What Happens in Vegas
by sss979
Summary: On the run after escaping prison in Fort Bragg, Face takes up residence in Sin City.  Thirteen years later he returns, looking for a friend.  Face-centric and emotionally intense; I suggest you read Convicts first.
1. Prologue

**Rating: R**

**Summary: On the run after escaping prison in Fort Bragg, Face takes up residence in Sin City. Thirteen years later he returns, looking for a friend. Face-centric and emotionally intense; I suggest you read Convicts first.**

**Warnings: Adult situations and a shameless look into the sex industry, but no more graphic sex than you'd see in an R-rated movie. Mild angst. **

**PROLOGUE**

**1973**

I met her at the airport. She was easy to spot – bewildered and enamored as she stepped off the plane and into the terminal filled with slot machines and bright lights. She'd never been here before. I'd known that much from her letter, but it was confirmed by the dazed look on her face. Her reaction was typical for a first-timer. Even travel-weary, she couldn't help but be taken in by the glitter and glamour that hit her before she'd even made it past the gate.

That was Vegas, through and through.

I stood at a distance, giving her a chance to take it all in. Another quick glance down at the photo in my hand – the same woman but at least five years younger – and I slipped it into the back pocket of my tight jeans. I'd wondered, when I first saw the photo, if she'd lied about her age. Seeing her in person, I was almost certain that she was older than her alleged forty-five years. Not that it particularly mattered to me; I could count on one hand the number of women who were actually honest about their age. Hell, I wasn't honest about it; why should they be?

People had long accused me of lying about my age – only they got it backwards. I was twenty-two, posing as nineteen. Yet I was still regularly regarded with skepticism and a request for ID when I approached any unfamiliar bar. It didn't bother me, really. In fact, it worked to my advantage, when it was all said and done. If they couldn't believe I was eighteen, that made it even easier to be nineteen.

Thumbs hooked into my pockets, I approached her steadily – a sure and confident walk with every step measured. Women liked that. They smiled at me as I passed, and I smiled back. I was used to the stares, and if they had ever made me uncomfortable before, they certainly didn't now. I'd let my hair grow out; it rested against the collar of the brown leather jacket – long, but not at all unkempt. With boyish features – sure, I was nineteen – blond highlights, and a light tan that I'd managed to maintain in spite of being night-shifted, I would've expected them to stare. Ladies, eat your heart out. Actually… I rather enjoyed those looks.

"Miss Leone?" I asked, stopping just a few feet behind her. She spun to see me, startled, and I smiled as I extended a hand. "Templeton Peck."

Her startled look immediately turned to a broad smile, and she shook my hand with a delicate grip. "Diane," she corrected. "Please."

I nodded, and slipped one hand behind her back, reaching for her suitcase with the other. "Shall we?" I gestured in the direction of the main terminal. "There's a cab waiting right outside to take you to your hotel and we have reservations for nine o'clock. I hope that's enough time for you to freshen up. I know it's a long flight from Miami."

"Oh, it should be plenty," she smiled.

She was all eyes as we stepped out into the street that ran between the two sections of the airport. From there, as from the tarmac, she had a good view of the strip. Her eyes were lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "This city is beautiful."

I chuckled. "Yes, if you like lights."

A gesture to one of the waiting cabs, and we were on our way. Quick and painless – just the way I liked it.

"So where are you from, Templeton?" she asked as she settled in the cab, turning her attention fully to me for the first time. "There's so many things we've never had a chance to discuss."

Yes, it was difficult to hold a real conversation through letters.

"I am from a small town about fifty miles northeast of Paris, France," I offered.

Her eyes widened, and her smile grew. "Oh! _Parlez-vous français_?"

"_Oui_," I answered comfortably. "_Et vous_?"

She laughed. "I'm afraid that's the extent of my French," she said, placing a hand on my arm. "I find it a beautiful language, but sadly, one that I can't understand a word of."

"I find it a language that speaks for itself, on many levels."

"Well said."

She turned to me, and tipped her head as she smiled. I returned the smile and reached up to brush the side of her face with the backs of my fingers. Fifty-five at least. Not that I cared.

"You know, I think I'm going to like you, Templeton," she said conclusively. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

I smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

The sweet sound of a successful first impression.


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

**1986**

I was somewhere between second and third base when the phone rang. Between the woman in my arms and the likelihood that the phone call was for the actual owners of the condo, I was fully prepared to let the answering machine get it.

But on the second ring, the young and scantily clad aspiring actress pulled away from where she was kissing my neck. "Aren't you going to get that?"

Her voice dripped with seduction, and I smiled up at her. "There's an answering machine."

"What if it's important?" she teased, trailing her fingertips along the open front of my shirt, barely brushing skin. I shivered involuntarily.

She was playing a game – a teasing game – and I knew how to play it just as well as she did. But her words reminded me of the possibility that it really could be important. I glanced at the phone and debated, but only long enough to give her a chance to resume kissing my neck. My eyes slid closed as her warm lips and tongue teased my pulse, coaxing it to pound harder.

If it was that important, Hannibal would call back.

The ringing stopped, and no message was left. Thank God. I let my eyes slide closed, relaxing as my hands roamed over the beautiful woman's back, and along her sides. Her skin was soft and smooth, made to be touched and caressed. My mind was filled with thoughts of what it would feel when I laid her back and kissed her everywhere…

The phone rang again. Damn it.

"You should get it," Andrea whispered, pulling away again. "It must be important if they're calling back."

I sighed. If it was so important, why not leave a message? But she'd stopped now, and it was marginally easier to pry my hands away from her warm, inviting body. Very carefully, gently, I slid out from under her, guiding her back onto the couch as I rose, kissing her once more.

"This will just take a second. I'll be right back. I promise."

She smiled and licked her lips. Damn, she looked like a porn star – one of the tasteful ones, spread out and topless and smiling at me. I kept my eyes on her as long as I possibly could before I had to turn away, then ran my fingers through my hair as I tried to pull my body under control. The last thing I wanted was to answer the phone with my voice cracking.

I took a few deep breaths before I picked up the phone from off the marble countertop in the kitchen. "Hello?"

"Hi!" a child's voice answered. "Is Tommy there?"

I dropped my head forward. It figured. "I'm afraid you have the wrong number."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

"No problem."

I hung the phone up, debated pulling the plug from the wall, and returned to the sofa, where Andrea was still sprawled. She smiled as I came into view. "Who was it?"

"Wrong number." Next subject?

"And they called twice?"

"It was a kid." Using the back of the sofa for support, I leaned over her, lowering myself down into a slow, deep kiss. As I pulled away, still holding myself up above her, I smiled. "Now where were we?"

We'd just figured out where we were when the phone rang again. I laughed in disbelief. Was this a joke? "I am not getting that," I mumbled into her neck, cupping her breasts in my hands.

This time, she ignored the ringing, too. I dropped my head back as she straddled my waist, lost in the warmth and excitement of her touch, running all the way down the center of my chest.

I'd just managed to completely tune out the ringing phone when the answering machine picked it up. "Face?"

Reflexes. I was off the couch and stumbling to the phone before Andrea even realized I was gone – and before Hannibal had a chance to say anything I didn't want her to hear. "I'll just be a second," I promised, nearly tripping over the pants that she'd already unfastened for me. "Just a second."

She stared at me, bewildered.

"You there, kid? Pick up."

I grabbed the phone off the cradle, shut off the answering machine, and breathed. He could wait a few seconds. He _would _wait a few seconds. I needed to catch my breath. Finally, eyes closed, I braced myself on the counter as I lifted the phone to my ear.

"Hello?" I was trying for casual, but I was still breathing hard. Damn it.

"Busy?"

I glared hard at the countertop, noting the smile in his voice. "Casual" went away, replaced by irritated. "Very. What do you want?" At least as irritated as I could get with Hannibal. He wouldn't be calling without a good reason.

"I'm going to be out of town for a couple days."

With that reason in mind, "irritated" was becoming harder and harder to hold back. "That couldn't wait 'til morning?"

"It could, but I was thinking about it now."

I sighed. It wasn't worth it. The only thing my aggravation would do was amuse him. "Fine."

"BA has the number to the hotel I'll be staying at. Do you want it?"

Not really. But I fumbled through the unfamiliar drawers in the unfamiliar kitchen anyways. I'd just moved in two days ago and I could never remember where people kept things in their kitchens…

Finally, I found a pen and a scrap of paper. "Alright, what is it?"

I took down the number, hung up the phone, and then pulled the plug from the wall before heading back into the living room. "I'm so sorry." That couldn't have been more genuine if I'd tried.

Andrea looked less amused, and far less understanding, than the first time. Damn. It was going to take some work to get her back to where we were.

"That was my… boss. I had to talk to him."

"What did he want?"

"Oh, it was just a…" I sighed. There was no good lie to put at the end of that sentence. Not one that would adequately explain away the fact that I'd walked away from her a second time, and so abruptly. "It's a long story," I whispered, sitting down on the edge of the couch. He reached toward her, stroking the side of her face gently. "No more interruptions."

"You promise?" She sounded distrustful.

"I promise. In fact…" I stood, and offered a hand down to her. "How about we take this someplace more comfortable?"

She smiled up at me. "What did you have in mind?"

"I have a king sized bed in the next room. There's a lot more room to move around."

With a seductive smirk, she delicately placed her fingers in my outstretched hand. "Sounds interesting."

We made it to the room. We even made it to the bed. But we didn't make it any further before the phone on the bedside table rang loudly. "Oh, for cryin' out loud…"

"You know," Andrea pulled away abruptly. "You seem awful busy."

"No, no, not at all," I protested, sitting up and reaching for her.

But she was already halfway to the door. She turned in the doorway and smiled politely, her fingers already working to button up her shirt again. "Some other time, Roger."

"But I –"

She didn't let me finish. She was gone, and I was alone in the room with the ringing phone. Damn it!

I let the phone ring as I fell back onto the bed, covering my face with my hand. This time, the answering machine didn't pick it up – probably because it had been attached to the phone that I'd pulled out of the wall. I turned my head to stare at the decorative, rotary dial phone on the bedside table, clanging loudly. The front door of the spacious apartment opened and closed again. This was just not my night.

Finally, I reached for the phone, lying on my back with my other hand over my eyes. "This had better be really, _really_ good," I greeted the caller. "Or I am hanging up right now."

"Face? Is that you?"

Male voice. Not Hannibal. I didn't immediately recognize it. "Who is this?"

"James."

I dropped my free hand to the bed and stared up at the ceiling with a sigh. Of all the people I'd expected might call – and the list was admittedly very short – my friend's sixteen-year-old son hadn't even been a consideration. "How'd you get this number?"

"You gave it to my mom, remember? In case of an emergency?"

"Is this an emergency?"

"Well… yeah… sort of."

"It had better be a really good one, James."

"Heather is gone."

I closed my eyes. "Define 'gone'."

He hesitated a moment. "Promise you won't tell my mom?"

"I'm not promising anything. You called me, remember?" _And I wish you hadn't…_ "So spit it out."

"She had this date with this guy," James started. "And Mom found out about it and she just freaked. Told her she couldn't go. But she went. At least I think she did. She's not here."

I sighed. "And why are you calling me?" This sounded very much like a family affair to me. And however close I was to Jessica and her children, I did not maintain order in their family.

"'Cause I'm worried about her."

"So tell your mom and –"

"No! Mom will just go ballistic and she'll scream and get mad and it won't fix anything."

I rubbed my forehead. I could feel a headache starting. "James…"

"Face, can't you just…? I know where they are. Can't you just go get her?"

"And what do you think that's going to solve?"

"I don't know; maybe you can talk to her. She might listen to you."

"Why would she listen to me?"

"I don't know!" The frustration in the boy's voice was growing into a near-panic. "Look, I don't have gas for my car, or I'd go do it myself. I mean, the guy would probably pound me, but maybe it would give her a chance to see what kind of a jerk he is."

This still sounded like a family affair to me. "James, I-"

"Face, he's twenty-two-years-old."

My eyes opened at that. Six years wasn't an incredible age difference. I'd been with women at least that much younger - and older - than me. But when he was twenty-two and she was sixteen, that was very different. This was America, not Saigon. Things like that didn't happen here. And whatever twenty-two-year-old was targeting a sixteen-year-old girl needed to have a chat with her father.

Heather had no father. I would have to suffice.

I sat up, putting my feet on the floor. This is not at all how I wanted to spend the evening. But I had nothing better to do now that Andrea had gone. "Where's your mom?" I asked.

"She's out with some guy. Another real jerk-off if you ask me. She won't be back until late."

"And where's your sister?"

James hesitated for a moment. "I… I want to go with you."

"No," I answered simply. "Where's your sister?"

"But it would be better if I –"

"I'm not going to ask a third time, James," I said politely. "I'm going to hang up the phone, and you and Heather can work it out with your mom."

"She's up at the lookout point."

"Which one?"

"It's off of Mulholland Drive. If you go up –"

"I know where Mulholland is," I interrupted him. Those make-out spots had been the same for the past twenty years, at least. I'd have no trouble finding them.

I grabbed my shirt off of the bed and held the phone with my shoulder as I slipped my arm into the sleeve. "If your mom comes home," I switched the phone to my other hand, "you tell her that Heather's with me. Understand?"

James sighed deeply. "Alright."

"And don't worry about your sister," I reassured the boy. "I'm sure she's fine. I'll bring her home."

"He drives a black Toronado, if that helps."

I sighed as he glanced at the clock. It was just after nine. Definitely not how I'd intended to spend this night.

"Right. I'll find her."

**1973**

"So you were the girl who was giving her father fits at fourteen years of age," I smiled as I watched the woman sitting across from me. For her age – I still hadn't pinned her down to what her age actually was – Diane was still quite beautiful, even in casual clothes. And she'd been well-taught. She hadn't been the least bit surprised when I'd ordered a bottle of wine with the casual dinner. There was no sense in wasting the evening, even if it was only meant to be a low-key, relaxing one after her long flight from Miami to Vegas.

She smiled at me as she set her wine glass back down. "I married very young."

"How young?"

"I was sixteen."

I nodded slowly. "That is young." Though there were worse "growing up" experiences that one could have at sixteen.

"It was. And I was young for sixteen."

"Did your parents approve of the marriage?"

"More or less."

She was finished eating. I signaled for the check.

"We've been married now for over forty years, so that says something for the decision."

So she was around fifty-six. I'd been close. "Congratulations. That's a long time."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes. He's a very good man."

The check was paid, and I smiled as I stood, offering her a hand. She took it, setting her napkin on the table. "Is there anything you'd like to see before settling in for the night?" I asked. "You never mentioned whether you actually enjoy gambling."

"To be honest, I really don't know," she replied. "I mean… I've never tried it."

I chuckled. "We'll save that for tomorrow, then. In case you do enjoy it, I'd hate to have to pull you away from the slot machines after only a few minutes because you're so tired you're falling asleep."

"I am quite tired," she admitted. "But I'd like to see the city. Is there any place we can go to see it? Someplace with a view, perhaps?"

I hesitated for a moment. "Well, if you see this place in the daylight, it'll make more sense. There aren't a whole lot of tall buildings. And most of what there is to see is about a half-mile in that direction." I pointed. "But I can take you there if you'd like. It's up to you."

She considered it for a moment, then smiled. "I'd really like to see the city."

I laughed quietly. "Alright. Fremont Street it is."


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

**1986**

There were fewer cars than I ever remembered there being at the lookout. The last time I'd been here, this had been "the" place to take a date. Of course, that was a very long time ago now. For that matter, it wasn't an experience that I'd repeated over and over. I'd spent my wildest years in Vietnam; before then I was too young to drive and afterwards, I had very little interest in making out in the backseat of a car. I'd done it once or twice, just for the experience. But it wasn't my fondest memory.

The black Toronado was the only one of its kind, parked on the far right, almost in the trees. Not much of a view from that vantage point. I parked on the other end of the row, and grabbed the pistol out of the glove box, tucking it into the front of my jeans as I stepped out of the car. I dropped the keys in my pocket as I closed the door softly, careful not to disturb the people in the next car.

It was convenient that my target was clear on the other side of the line. It gave me a chance to glance over each of the cars and all of my surroundings, to make sure that there was no one here who'd cause me any trouble. There wasn't. Everyone here was too engaged in their own activities to care what I was doing.

It was too dark to see into the car. Even if it hadn't been, the windows were already fogged. With complete, impenetrable calm, I leaned one arm on the top of the car and tapped the back window with the barrel of the gun before lowering it out of sight. A moment later, the window rolled down and a young man with dark hair glared out at me. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and he was breathing hard.

"Hi." I smiled broadly. "You're parked in a no parking zone. I'm going to have to ask you to move."

The girl inside, though I couldn't see her, apparently recognized my voice. "Face?" she cried.

There was the sound of scrambling and the guy in the backseat nearly lost his balance, but he didn't take his eyes off of me. I didn't blame him. He was stunned and startled and unsure. I wouldn't have looked away either.

"Jesus!" Heather was just as stunned, but she was angry, too. "What are you doing here!"

"You know this guy?" the boy asked.

"Friend of the family," I answered with a smile. "Now, I think I mentioned that you needed to move."

Just as he regained some of his cockiness and thought to put me in my place, I raised the gun, and cocked it back as I leveled it at the twenty-two-year-old's forehead. The smile never left my face.

"Now would be good," I suggested.

The boy's eyes went wide, and he put up his hands. "Woah, man, I don't want no trouble." So much for the cocky approach.

"Why don't you come on out of the car, nice and easy." It wasn't a question. With a wave of the pistol, I made sure he didn't mistake it for one.

"I… I ain't got no pants on."

"Well, now, that's your problem isn't it?" I opened the door for him, my tone still exceedingly pleasant. "Out."

"Face, stop it!" Heather cried. "This is ridiculous!"

Ridiculous or not, the boyfriend and I had an understanding. Stumbling a little, he pulled himself out of the car. I closed the door behind him, against Heather's protests.

"Who are you, man?" he stammered.

"I'm your guardian angel," I said calmly.

"Huh?" He sounded confused.

"You're not wearing a condom. And she's ovulating. You ready to be a daddy?"

"Uh… We didn't… I mean…"

It was all he had time to say before the door opened on the opposite side. "Face! Stop! You are so embarrassing me!"

"Uh…" The boy was sweating bullets. "Honey, get back in the car."

"No! I won't!"

Either she had no great love for the boy or she knew I wouldn't really shoot him. The gun was loaded, sure enough. But the boy was stupid, not evil. Killing him would cause a number of problems, but more important than any of them was the fact that I didn't _want _to kill him. I hadn't taken a life since Vietnam; I wasn't about to start again now.

Heather walked around the car, her shirt still only half-buttoned and her skirt a rumpled mess. She grabbed for my arm, to pull the gun away, but I latched onto her wrist first. Using almost no effort at all, and with the gun still steady, right above the bridge of the boy's nose, I spun her around me to the open driver's side door and shoved her none-too-gently inside.

"Are the keys in the car?" I asked the boy.

"Uh… yeah?"

"Good." I smiled, and used the gun against his forehead to shove him off balance. "Real pleasure meeting you."

Heather was trying to climb back out of the car. She didn't have a chance. I sat down, and she was forced to move over. Her eyes widened with horror as I closed the door and turned over the ignition. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "You can't just steal his car!"

I didn't answer. Instead, I put the car in reverse and pulled out of the dark, secluded spot, leaving the boy standing on the grass in only an unbuttoned dress shirt and socks. "Stop!" Heather shrieked again, grabbing onto my arm. "I'll scream!"

"Go right ahead." Actually, I was surprised she hadn't thought of that earlier.

We were already pulling away, past the row of cars, by the time she screamed for help. Then there was nothing but empty road for miles and miles. She screamed anyways, until her voice was hoarse, and finally turned to glare out the window, arms across her chest.

"Where are we going?" she demanded as we merged onto the freeway and headed towards Ventura – the opposite direction from her house.

"For a drive."

"You're not going to get away with this, you know," she spat at me, her voice laced with anger and indignation. "You can't just put a gun to somebody's head and steal their car. It's against the law."

"So is statutory rape."

"He didn't _rape _me," she snapped. "Morgan and I are in love! Something I'm sure you couldn't possibly understand."

"Sure you are."

She growled angrily at the nonchalant response. "You're such a bastard," she shot. "I fucking hate you."

That was no surprise, either.

We were twenty minutes outside of town when we finally pulled off the freeway, into the hills, and stopped. At the side of a dark two-lane road, we were in the middle of nowhere. She turned and glared at me as I turned the car off.

"What the hell are we doing here?" she demanded angrily.

I shrugged. "Well, I figured if you have any more screaming to do, this would be a good place to do it."

Her look was pure hatred as she opened the door and slammed it closed behind her. I waited as she grabbed her shoes from the back seat, then stepped out after her, slipping the keys into my pocket.

"It's a pretty long way back to your house," I observed casually, watching her. She leaned back on the trunk as she strapped the high heels around her ankles. "But it's that way," he pointed, "if you're planning to walk."

She finished with her shoe and let her foot fall back down to the ground, stomping it as she stood up straight. "Why are you doing this to me!" she screamed.

I sighed, shoving my hands into my pockets. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." That, at least, was the sincere truth.

"Did my mother call you? Did she tell you to do this?"

"No."

"Did James?"

"He called me," I admitted. "But the rest was all my idea."

She glared daggers at me. "I hate you."

It was the last thing she said before she shoved her way past me and started walking down the side of the road. Hands in my pockets, I followed at a leisurely pace.

"You should probably finish buttoning up your shirt," I called after her. "Or else people are going to think you're a hooker."

"So what?" she screamed over her shoulder at me. "If they stop and ask, I'll just tell them that you… you _kidnapped _me and brought me out here to… to rape me or something!"

"That might work," I granted. "Of course if you do that, the police might want to do a rape kit and that could end up really bad for your boyfriend."

"Oh, fuck you!"

"And at the very least, I'll have to call your mom to come bail me out of jail. And then she'll ask me why I'm there." I paused for a moment, quietly reflecting. "She'll probably ask you, too. And the police. You think we'll all be able to convince her I brought you out here to rape you?"

"Go to hell!"

She stepped wrong on the heeled shoe and very nearly fell on her face. A good twenty feet behind her, I didn't even try to hide my smile. She couldn't even walk in heels yet, and she thought she was all grown up. Teenagers were so much fun…

"It's too bad this road is so deserted," I said thoughtfully. "You might have been able to hitchhike your way back. The skimpy outfit would help, I think."

"Leave me _alone_!"

"At this rate, we won't even be home by morning. And I'm pretty sure your mom is going to realize you're missing by then."

She stopped, and spun. I stopped too, a safe distance back. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

I shrugged, watching her in the moonlight. "Well, your brother can only lie for you for so long. And if I don't show up with you at some point before midnight curfew with a really good explanation for why I chose tonight to take you out for this pleasant drive…" I tipped my head, staring off into the sky beyond her. "I don't think any of this is going to escape your mother's notice."

Heather stared at me, wary and still angry. "You didn't tell her?"

I shrugged again, this time adding my hands to the gesture.

Her surprised look quickly turned to a glare. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"If you didn't tell her, there's a reason why not. What is it you want?"

I hesitated. That was a loaded question, and I had better answer carefully.

"I want you to come get back in the car," I finally said. "And I want you to tell me what the hell you see in this guy. But if you'd prefer to walk back to the city and scream it over your shoulder, we can do that too. I'll just leave the car right there; doesn't matter much to me."

She stared at me for a long moment, debating. Then she looked both ways down the street, probably trying to determine just how stranded she really was. We were miles from nowhere, and she wasn't dressed for a hike.

Finally, she headed back towards me. "Fine," she shot as she passed, offering only a hate-filled glare. "Let's talk."

**1973**

"It's beautiful," Diane gasped as she stared out from the rooftop of the Fitzgerald Hotel.

I chuckled. "Nice to have friends in high places." And friends who could be easily bought. Walter the Security Guard's price was a bottle of cheap whiskey, to be delivered when I wanted the keys to the rooftop. Two if I wanted him to set it up for an entire evening. I'd made love on this rooftop more than once.

"What is this building, again?"

"The Fitzgerald." I finished pouring the glass of wine and took it to her.

"I like it," she said with a smile. "I should've stayed here."

"I can arrange that, if you'd like."

She considered it for a moment, then nodded. "I think I'd like that."

I waited for her to take her glass, then smiled as I raised my own to touch hers with a quiet clink. "To beautiful lights, and even more beautiful women."

She laughed softly, and took a sip of the wine, then turned back to look at the glittering lights below. I moved closer to her, setting one hand naturally and instinctively on the small of her back. After a few moments of silence, she chuckled. "I feel like I should be talking."

"About what?"

She shrugged. "Anything."

I smiled, and slid a bit closer, behind her. "You don't like silence?" I whispered, low and soft into her ear.

"Sometimes I do." She glanced over her shoulder at me. "But I feel like I hardly know you."

"Well, what would you like to know?" I pulled back, careful not to crowd her, and took a sip of the white wine.

"Tell me about Paris," she finally replied after a long pause.

"Ah, Paris." Conversation topic number 431. Most women were fascinated by it. I'd worked out this story frontward and backward months ago for that very reason. "Well, there's not much to tell. I was just a child when my family left. The war was… not kind to our country."

"Oh." She lowered her eyes. "I'm very sorry."

"No, it's okay." I raised my glass and swirled the wine a little before sipping it. "I don't mind talking about it. But like I said, I don't remember much."

"How old were you? I noticed you don't have an accent."

"Five. And we mostly spoke English in our home. My father had been an American soldier."

"That's fascinating."

I smiled and set my glass down on the ledge, tracing around the base of it. I stopped when I realized I was fidgeting. Damn it, even months after I'd quit smoking, I still didn't know what to do with my fingers when I felt like there should be a cigarette between them.

"From there, I grew up in Boston," I continued. "Graduated high school last year and moved out to Vegas." I smiled as I glanced up at her. "Been here almost a year now."

"Do you like it here?"

"Well, I'm still here." I chuckled. It was a safe answer. They never questioned it. "Though I think it's as much for the company as the city itself."

I raised my glass to her and she giggled quietly. "I might have thought it would be lonely," she said, sipping her wine. "So many people coming and going."

"It has its advantages and disadvantages."

"Do you ever get attached?"

"I try not to."

"Do you succeed?"

I lowered my head a fraction, but kept my eyes on her as I smiled. "Do you?"

She laughed. "Touché, Templeton. But you'd better be careful."

"Oh?" I leaned comfortably on the ledge, watching her. "Of what?"

"I just might have to get you liquored up to get a straight answer out of you."

My smile remained in place. I was neither intimidated nor offended by the mock threat, and it didn't make me the least bit uncomfortable. If she wanted me drunk, that could be arranged very easily. I knew well enough how to mimic the effects long before I felt it.

"You're more than welcome to try, my dear," I invited, smiling as I studied her. "It could make for a very interesting evening."


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

**1986**

**In response to a large number of inquiries about what is going on with Quentillian and Tiggertoo, I need to simply state that Quentillian and I no longer associate and while I wish her and Tigger both the best of luck in their upcoming endeavors, I am no part of their series. For my part, this series is finished at a total of 19 books and will continue posting in the upcoming months as I take a break from writing to catch my breath, heal wounds that this series' self-exploration has caused, and reflect on the many things I have learned from writing it. Your continuing support and feedback is greatly appreciated.**

It was probably a gesture of rebellion that the first thing Heather did once she stepped in the car was grab a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. She even watched me out of the corner of her eye to see if I would try to stop her, or if the look on my face was shocked or horrified. It was neither. Before she had a chance to find her lighter, I'd offered the flame from mine. It was her turn to stare at me in surprise.

"Thank you," she finally said, coolly, as she leaned forward and lit the end of the cigarette.

"So." I snapped the lighter closed again. "His name is Morgan?"

She hesitated. When she finally answered, it was with some reluctance. "Yes."

"Where did you meet him?"

"I work with him."

"You have a job?" I asked, curious. When had this happened?

She rolled her eyes and looked away, out the open window. "I've had a job for over a month now."

Oh, stupid me. A month was plenty of time to start working, meet someone new, and find true love. I kept my commentary to myself as I folded my hands, resting my wrists on the steering wheel.

"This must be a pretty good job if he's able to support himself on it."

"He's a manager," she shot back.

"Where at?"

"McDonalds."

It figured.

"So," I hesitated, "you have to keep this relationship pretty quiet, then. So that neither one of you gets fired."

"I don't care," she answered immediately. "We've already decided that if that happens, we'll –" She cut off abruptly, and I raised a brow as I glanced at her. She was swallowing her words, hiding something. The question was: did I care enough to pry it out of her?

She dragged on her cigarette. "We'll deal with it," she finally finished, safely.

No, I probably didn't care enough. But she had certainly piqued my curiosity.

I let the silence linger for a few seconds. For as much experience as I had talking to women, Heather was still awkward to talk to. She wasn't a woman, to be charmed and seduced. But she wasn't a child, either. She was somewhere in between. And it was a very different art to coerce cooperation out of her than out of a woman who simply melted with a smile and a few well-placed compliments.

I decided on a change in topic. "So does your mom know you smoke?"

"Nope," she snapped back. "My mom doesn't know anything."

I chuckled. Typical. She really thought she had the world on a string. "Oh, I'm sure she knows more than she lets on."

"How the hell would you know?"

"Most mothers do."

"Yeah, and what do you know about it? I thought you were raised in a convent."

My eyes widened involuntarily. Surprised, and struck, I found myself staring at her for a long moment. She looked back, a wicked smile laced with pure challenge. The confrontation made me hesitate, trailing my tongue along the back of my teeth as I considered my response. What was she getting at?

"An orphanage," I corrected, studying her carefully. "And who the hell told you that?"

"I have ways." Another challenge. She had ammo...

"Your mother doesn't even know that."

"Like I said," she smirked. "I have ways."

I studied her for a moment longer, then looked away. I'd find out later where she got her information from, and what else she knew. Right now, her guard was raised. She wouldn't tell me anything. And until I knew what she was getting at, bringing my childhood into this discussion, I needed to focus on keeping my own defenses up.

"You must've been a really good little boy, huh?" she taunted. "With all that church around you. The nuns." She dragged on her cigarette and blew the smoke at me. "I bet when you were sixteen, you didn't even have a girlfriend. Or a job. Or a life."

I didn't answer, and she looked away.

"People grow up a lot faster nowadays," she said defiantly. "I wish your generation could figure that out."

Nice.

Finally, I let my hands slide down the sides of the steering wheel, into my lap. I stared out the windshield as I took a deep, slow breath, wording my response carefully. "When I was sixteen, I was finishing basic and on my way to Fort Bragg and then Vietnam," I said softly. "Less than a year away from my first kill. I don't know if that counts as a job," I turned and met her stare, dead on, "but was one hell of a grow-up experience."

"I thought you weren't allowed to join the Army until you were eighteen."

"You're not," I answered firmly. Actually, it was seventeen with parental consent. The lie hadn't been _that _drastic.

I looked back out the windshield and gripped the steering wheel. "And let me tell you something about the guys that I served with," I continued.

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't speak.

"I saw a lot of guys just like Morgan get real honest over how they felt about their girlfriends and wives. And I can count on one hand the number of them that would turn down a Saigon whore if she was cheap enough. Don't think your boyfriend's any different."

She swallowed hard. I could see in her eyes that I'd hit home – at least on some level. But she had to remain defiant, had to save face. "He is different," she said. "He loves me."

"He loves something," I agreed, eyes steady on hers. "But it isn't you."

She shifted uncomfortably, and looked away, finishing her cigarette and dropping it out the open window. "I want to go home."

I looked away, and hesitated for a few seconds before finding the keys and shoving them into the ignition. Without another word, I pulled out into the road and headed for home.

**1973**

I stepped out of the bathroom still toweling my hair dry, the white hotel robe tied loosely around my waist, and cast a lingering look at the woman lying on the bed. She was quiet, on her stomach with her arms tucked underneath her, beneath the sheets. After a moment, I turned away from her. "Are you asleep?" I asked quietly. I didn't want to wake her if she was.

"No," she whispered back.

I finished with the towel, and draped it over the chair in the corner before walking to the window and pulling the blinds open. It was too warm in here.

"I was just thinking," she continued quietly. "It must be wonderful to be so young and full of energy in a place like this."

I opened the window, and spent a moment staring down at the street – at all of the people running from one casino to the next. So many people spending so much money on so little. "It gets old," I admitted, leaving the blinds open. We were up high enough to ensure privacy without them.

"When I was your age," she said quietly, "I already had a child on the way and a husband and house to care for." I turned back and saw her lying on her side now, her head propped up on her hand. "I never had the chance to just be young."

"You're still young."

She laughed. "You flatter me."

I smiled at her as I walked back to the bathroom and grabbed my clothes.

"But I'm not young," she sighed as I returned. "I know it."

"What makes you say that?" I folded the clothes neatly and set them on the chair beside the towel.

"I don't feel young anymore," she said sadly.

I could've guessed that simply by the fact that she was here, with me. She'd probably be surprised to find just how common it was. Of course, most of the women I met would never admit to it. She was rare in that regard.

"I feel… tired."

Finished with the clothes, I walked to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, pulling one leg up with me and leaving the other on the floor. I didn't speak and after a long pause, she continued softly. "I've had too many years. Too much heartache."

I smiled faintly, sadly. Yet another thing she had in common with every other woman. "Heartache can make you tired no matter how many years you have," I replied, studying her in the dim light that filtered in through the window. "Being young doesn't mean you get to escape that."

She lowered her head, tucking her arm underneath her. Her eyes never left me, a curious expression on her face. "Have you ever been in love, Templeton?"

"No."

She chuckled at the instant response, and the firmness of my answer. She wouldn't believe it. None of them did. "Then what do you know of heartache?" But at least she didn't challenge it.

I shrugged. "Well…"

I turned, sliding towards her. She didn't move as I stretched out, lying on my stomach on the bed beside her. I propped myself up, pulling my elbows underneath me, as I considered my response. Love was always a touchy subject, and never one I particularly liked. But women liked to talk about it, almost invariably, and I'd gotten good at both dodging and addressing it with minimum emotional commitment.

"From what I hear, heartache is a horrible feeling." I smiled. "One that I hope never to experience."

"It is a horrible feeling," she agreed. "It's also a beautiful one."

"How so?"

"Realizing what the human heart is capable of." She sighed deeply, glancing away from me. "That it could feel something so deep, love someone so truly. Once you've felt that – once you've _really _felt it… nothing compares. It's a feeling like no other."

I wasn't even going to pretend to know that feeling. Partly because I knew she wouldn't buy it anyway. In all the mastery of my art, I could make women believe just about anything I said. Except that. There was something about it that was so unique and intense that it was either familiar or it wasn't. But more than my inability to convince them, I hardly saw the point in inviting more conversation on a topic I didn't want to touch with a ten foot pole.

I'd thought I was in love once, until the first time someone asked me about it. It was still my default answer to anyone who wouldn't want to hear all the details – yes, I'd been in love once and no, I didn't like talking about it. But it hadn't felt at all like what these women described in their moments of blissful memories. Giving her an affirmative answer would only mean that she'd feel the need to correct me when she heard my description. The kind of love she talked about was the kind that fairy tales were made of. And that kind of thing didn't happen in real life. Even if it did, I wanted no part of it.

There was a faraway look in her eyes – the one that every woman got when she thought about true love. "Your husband?" I guessed.

She smiled sadly as she drew her eyes back to me, and nodded slightly. "I lost him in the war," she offered quietly.

Her response caught me off guard. Forty years of marriage. Had she meant before he died? The math still worked; the war had just officially ended a few weeks ago. "I'm sorry." I looked away so that she wouldn't see the surprise on my face. Better that all she saw was empathy, or nothing at all if I couldn't fake that.

She sighed deeply. "I guess I shouldn't say that," she whispered. "But it's how I feel."

Now I was thoroughly confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I say he was lost in the war, but he…" I dared a quick glance at her in the long pause that followed, and saw her studying the pillowcase intently, tracing invisible designs on it with the tip of her finger. "He came back. He just wasn't the same. It changed him so much. He's not even the same person anymore."

That made sense. I sighed, but it was purely internal. Was there anything in the world that I wanted to talk about _less _than Vietnam? Off the top of my head, I couldn't think of anything. But I let her continue. Clearly, she wanted to talk. And she damn well paid me enough just to listen.

"I feel like he died the moment he got on that plane," she whispered. "It was the last time I ever saw him. I don't know who this man is now who sits at my dinner table and sleeps in my bed… but he's not my husband."

She paused, and looked up, meeting my eyes. Her gaze locked there. "I'm told that no one could ever understand the things that happened over there unless they were there to see it. Do you believe that?"

I shook my head. "I wouldn't know," I answered softly. Empathy – and ignorance – was so much easier to fake than love.

She laughed quietly, sadly. "Of course you wouldn't." Then, with one hand, she reached up to touch the side of my face gently. "You're so young," she whispered. "So unscathed. Nineteen, you said? You were lucky you didn't get caught in the draft. So many young boys sent over there…"

I lowered my gaze away from hers, soft smile still in place. There was nothing to say until she changed the subject. Hopefully I wouldn't have long to wait for that.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, lowering her hand away from my cheek. "Such depressing talk."

Oh, good. She took cues well.

"It's alright." I folded my arms and lay down, resting my head on them. "It doesn't bother me."

"So," she said abruptly. "You've never loved."

"No."

"You know, somehow I find that hard to believe."

I laughed quietly. _You and everyone else who asks. _"Why is that?"

"You're so good at it."

My smile was genuine this time. "I try."

"I'll bet more than a few women have been in love with you."

"Perhaps."

She reached up and gentle fingers brushed my hair back. "So you're a heartbreaker, then?"

I chuckled, watching her closely as I evaluated the affectionate touch. Would she be offended to know that wasn't the truth? Love was very professional in my world; there was no room for heartbreak. But if she was here to feel something real, she wouldn't appreciate hearing that.

"I try not to make a habit of it," I answered safely as she stroked the side of my face.

"I would've thought it something you aspired to."

I smiled. No safe answer to that.

"You can be honest with me," she said gently as she left her hand resting on the back of my neck. "I know this is a job for you. I have no delusions about your feelings for me."

"Then I'm not doing my job well enough," I replied with a soft smile.

She laughed. "Oh, you are definitely a heartbreaker, Templeton."

I chuckled as I turned onto my side, facing her. She was beneath the blankets and I was on top of them, but I pulled her close anyway. "Enough about me."

She curled against my chest as I slid an arm under her head, cradling her. Nuzzling her gently, I planted a light, gentle kiss on her temple. "What about you? Why are you here?" I tipped my head down to look into her eyes. "What is it you're looking for?"

She stared up at me, her eyes glistening in the dim light. "I don't know yet," she admitted. "But I'll let you know if I find it."

I raised the hand that was resting on her side and used it to brush her graying hair back. "Maybe I can help you find it."

She smiled softly, and my hand moved from her hair to the side of her face, pulling her closer as I kissed her slowly. Her response was hesitant, and I backed away a little, leaving my lips barely touching hers. I didn't want to push her. I lingered there, tasting her breath, feeling its warmth. Finally, she pressed forward a little, returning the kiss. It was slow and unsure, and as she finally pulled back, she lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she laughed nervously.

"For what?" I stroked her hair again.

"I've never done anything like this."

I smiled reassuringly, and wondered if she had any idea how common that line was, too. "Don't feel like you have to do anything at all," I whispered. "I'm perfectly happy just to lie here and hold you."

"I'm afraid I'm not even good conversation right now."

"That's okay." I lowered my hand, over her arm and to her side, pulling closer to her. "I'm here if you want to talk." I tipped my head down, trying to catch her gaze. I succeeded after only a moment, and smiled again at her. "And I'm here if you don't."

She laughed softly as I pulled her close, guiding her head to my shoulder and wrapping my arms around her comfortingly.

"You really are very good at this."

I smiled, letting my eyes slide closed. "I don't like to see people hurting. Lonely. It's not about love, the way most people see it. I just don't think that anyone should have to be alone."

She swallowed noticeably, and I heard her breathing hitch. I wasn't sure if it was in response to the word "love" or "alone". But one way or another, I'd somehow managed to push her to the brink of tears. Not my intention, but I didn't shy away from it. If she needed to cry, she paid me to witness that, too.

"I still miss him," she choked. "I miss him even more when I… every time I see him. I miss him so terribly."

Ah, "alone," then.

The compassion was as real, as heartfelt, as I could possibly make it without allowing my own emotions to come into play. I took a deep breath as she tucked it under my chin, pressing close to my chest. Still embracing her, I lowered my head and rested my cheek on top of her hair. "Shh…"

For several minutes, she cried. Then, as her sobs finally died into silence, she found her voice again. It almost startled me. I had been half-expecting that she'd cried herself to sleep. "This may…" She choked, and raised a hand to wipe at her eyes roughly. Releasing her, I turned to my back and grabbed a few tissues from the box on the bedside table. "This may sound horrible…"

She took the tissues from me and wiped her eyes, then blew her nose. I remained quiet and passive as she leaned over me to toss them in the trash at the side of the bed. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." I smiled reassuringly.

She drew in a deep breath, regaining her composure, but didn't look at me as she finally finished what she had been trying to say. "I know it sounds… bad. But would you mind if…" Finally, she drew her eyes up to mine. I could tell she was trying hard not to burst into tears again. "If I called you by his name?"

I smiled softly and shook my head as I caressed her cheek with the backs of my fingers. "Not at all."

"It's just that you look sort of like he did once and…"

"It's not a problem."

"Are you sure?"

I nodded. "I'm sure."

"Thank you," she breathed, relaxing against me as the tears flooded her eyes again.

Withdrawing my arm slowly from beneath her head, I used my other hand to push her gently onto her back, leaning over her and covering her lips in a slow, deep kiss.


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**1986**

"Fix your hair," I ordered as I pulled onto Heather's street.

"Why? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, except you look like you just got laid."

She turned the rearview mirror towards her and took her hair out of the clips that held it, ruffling it until it fell around her shoulders. I pulled over to the side of the road, right in front of the fire hydrant, and turned off the engine. I left the keys in the car as I stepped out, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door for her. She straightened her skirt as she stood, trying to make herself look more presentable.

"You're fine," I assured her, closing the door. Without thought, my hand gravitated toward the small of her back, leading her across the street and to the sidewalk on the other side. She glanced back.

"Are you just going to leave his car there?"

"Why not?"

"He's going to report it stolen, you know."

"And he can pick it up from the police impound. I'm sure they'll tow it before morning."

She gave me a worried look, which was answered with a confident smile, but didn't say another word as we started up the driveway.

Jessica met us at the door, before we even had a chance to get up the steps. "Heather! Where the hell have you been? I thought I –"

"Didn't you get my note?" I interrupted.

Jessica stared at me, confused. "Note?"

"Yeah, I left you a –" I felt my pocket, and heaved a sigh as I withdrew a piece of paper. "Oh, I must have forgotten to leave it on the table." I replaced it in my jacket pocket. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean for you to worry. It's my fault."

"I –"

"Why don't you go on in?" I smiled at Heather as I nudged her toward the door.

She exchanged quick glances with her mother as she passed. I took the opportunity to look past both women and saw James standing on the living room stairs, holding the banister as he watched the scene unfold. I winked quickly at him, and watched his shoulders sag with relief. A moment later, he saw Heather. She glared at him as she passed, but Jessica didn't see it. She had already turned back to face me.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, arms across.

I shrugged. "Well, I just thought that –"

"Like I don't have enough problems with her without you taking her out to –" She cut off suddenly. "Where did you go, anyways? Jesus, Face, she's only sixteen-years-old, what the hell are you –"

"Slow down," I interrupted, keeping my voice calm in spite of her near-panic. "Let's go inside, hmm?"

She studied me warily, then sighed as she turned away, stepping back into the house. I followed her, and closed the door behind me.

"Did you just get in?" I asked, noticing that she was still wearing her high heeled shoes.

"Yeah, just a few minutes ago."

"You look good, by the way."

Actually, she looked incredible. In the little black dress and four inch heels, she certainly didn't look old enough to have sixteen-year-old twins. She flopped down on the sofa gracelessly and kicked off the shoes. I watched her as she leaned on the armrest and held her head in her hand, covering her eyes. Gorgeous or not, she looked entirely too stressed.

After only a brief debate, I walked to the kitchen. I grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of brandy from the liquor cabinet, poured, and returned to hand one to her.

"Here."

She looked up, and studied the glass for a long moment before finally taking it. "Thank you."

I sat down on the other end of the sofa, reclining comfortably with my legs crossed. "Rough night?" I guessed.

"Horrible," she answered, taking a sip of the liquor.

Jessica had an interesting taste in men. She seemed to gravitate towards the ones who wanted nothing more than to use and manipulate her. Those types were hard to spot if they were any good at it, and it took one to know one, but even her kids could see it in the men she brought home. I couldn't help but think that she saw it too. And for whatever messed up reason, it was exactly what drew her to them.

In my book, that made her something of a masochist.

"James knew that Heather was with me. Didn't he tell you?"

"Yeah, but…" She sighed deeply, leaning on her arm again and massaging her forehead. "I've just been having a lot of problems with her lately. And I never know when he's being honest with me and when he's trying to cover up for her."

I took a sip of the brandy. I rarely drank hard liquor anymore, and the taste almost made me wince. I decided to just hold it for a while – as a prop. "I understand she's got a boyfriend."

"He's twenty-two-years-old," Jessica sighed.

"Ever met him?"

"I don't need to. I can tell what kind of person he is by the way she talks about him."

The irony made me smile. Were all women so easily able to see the flaws in the man they _weren't _dating, and so unable to see them in the one they were?

"What do you mean?"

She sat up, and glared daggers at the coffee table, the nearest available target. "She's sixteen and he's got her wrapped around his finger. She tells me today that they're going to run off somewhere and get married."

I shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it. She's only sixteen. There's not many places where she could do it without your consent."

"Oh, I know that," she sighed. "It's just… the fact that she'd try." She set her drink on the coffee table and leaned forward, hiding her face in her hands. "I don't know if I really believe anymore that she… that she wouldn't try." Her shoulders rose and fell as she sighed. "I feel like I'm losing her."

I lowered my eyes. This was a family problem I would just as soon stay out of. Heather knew where to find me if she got in over her head. And I was pretty sure Morgan and I had a well-established understanding of how I expected her to be treated.

"If there's anything I can do…"

She sighed. "No, I'll…" She laughed, without humor, and shook her head. "I just don't know what to do anymore. I never would've thought… not at her age. Hell, not at any age. I just never would have." She sat up, and put her shoulders back, taking a deep breath. Then she looked at me.

"So how have you been?" she asked. "We didn't talk much when you called the other day."

I smiled back at her, glad for the topic change. "Sorry about that. I've been pretty busy."

"Yeah, I'll bet." She glanced over her shoulder at the stairs. "Where did you take her, anyways?"

"We just drove around," I answered. It wasn't a lie. "She was all dressed up with nowhere to go, so…"

"Did she call you?" Jessica asked, surprised.

"No, James did. He was worried about her."

Jessica sighed and rose to her feet again, grabbing the glass off the coffee table as she paced to the window. "I shouldn't have gone out tonight," she said softly. "I knew it, and I did it anyways. I guess I just keep hoping…"

I glanced over my shoulder at her. She was hugging her arms over her chest. "Where did _you_ go?" I asked, inviting conversation.

She shook her head and took a drink. "I don't want to talk about it."

I set my glass on the coffee table and turned to face her, studying her carefully. I could feel the tension and frustration radiating from her, all the way across the room, and I genuinely felt bad for her. It was an odd feeling, to see this side of the dating game. There was a part of me that wished I could establish the kind of understanding with her boyfriend as I had with her daughter's.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No."

I nodded slowly, and stood up. In that case, there was nothing more for me to say. "I should go."

"It's just that every time I think something is starting to go right, just starting to, I find out something like the guy's married!"

I'd stood up too soon.

"I mean, how could anyone possibly think that that's not worth mentioning?"

She set her glass on the bookshelf and turned to pace away from the window. She walked three steps, then turned back. Standing "at ease" – legs slightly apart, hands behind my back – I watched her calmly.

"My whole life, I go through this same damn thing. Two dates, maybe three. Then they turn out to be married or they hate kids or, oh, the one guy – his girlfriend was pregnant and he just had to get away from all that. That one was priceless. Nothing serious, he tells me. He just needed to get off."

She paced back and forth, three steps one way, three steps the other.

"The really horrible thing is? I look back and I almost regret it. Isn't that horrible? I almost regret not taking him up on it. Because at least he was up front with me! At least he was honest!"

She stopped at the window and hit her arm on the frame, her fist balled.

"And now it's six months and four guys later and I'm sure as hell not any closer to true love. All I've managed to get out of it is frustration and stress. Jesus, I haven't been laid in almost a _year_!"

I held back the snicker, but not the smile, and lowered my head to hide it. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? She had standards. In a way, that was admirable. But there was something that just didn't make sense between what she said she wanted and what she went after. I couldn't reconcile the two. I felt bad for her – I genuinely did. But I wasn't exactly in a position to fix it.

She dropped her arm suddenly and grabbed the glass of liquor off the bookshelf. "Christ, why the hell am I telling you all this?"

Suppressing the smile, I looked back up and watched her down the rest of the brandy in several full gulps. Why _was _she telling me that? The obvious answer seemed a little too obvious. Especially when we had established the boundaries of our friendship long ago. There was no love between us, and the attraction was minimal – superficial. But I did consider her a friend, and if all she was looking for was to blow off some steam…

I took a few steps closer, stopping right behind her. Hands still behind my back, I tipped my head down, lips just inches from her ear. "Because you want to?"

I'd let her determine my meaning. Safer that way.

Suddenly, she spun. She almost caught me off guard. I had just enough time to stand up straight, and to place a quiet, inviting smile on my lips. Her eyes narrowed, only inches from my own. "No," she stated firmly. "You're wrong."

I nodded slightly in acknowledgement and stepped back, still smiling. It was the expected response, and it didn't offend me in the least. Once I'd put a safe and proper distance between us, I dropped my head – a ghost of a bow – and turned away. "Have a good night, Jessica."

I didn't make it all the way to the door. "Wait."

That part _wasn't _expected.

Stopping with my hand on the sofa, I didn't turn back to face her. I just waited, letting her call the shots. It took her a long moment before she finally continued. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm just…"

I looked back, and gave a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it." I grabbed my jacket and draped it over my arm as I crossed the few steps to her. We touched cheeks and shared a careful, platonic embrace.

"Have a good night," I whispered again. Then I turned, and let myself out without another word.

**1973**

The sun was already hot on the strip. Drunk and dazed, and more than a little tired, women in miniskirts and high heels were stumbling alongside the men who were guiding them back to their hotels. If I had to guess, I would say the men were probably just as drunk. They just held it together better, by necessity.

I could feel their eyes on me as I jogged past, shirtless and already breaking a light sweat from the combination of the 8:00 sun and my strenuous pace. The women were staring, too. I could feel their eyes acutely. Even drunk, they stopped to stare. And every one of them was an encouragement to keep moving.

I skirted around the drunk homeless man who was sprawled on the pavement next to the newspaper stand, filled with the personal ads and phone numbers of the call girls. The shops were still closed, but the casinos were already singing. They never slept. The familiar ratchet of the pull handles, the clacking of coins in the trays. I heard the sounds as I passed, paying attention to what was otherwise just ambient noise.

The trek down Fremont – the final stretch back to the hotel – was slower. It wasn't crowded, by any means. But there were a few more people to dodge around, and I needed to cool down. There was a shower waiting for me when I got back to the room, and a woman I'd been entertaining for the past four days. I had to wake her and get her to the airport. But the shower was definitely my first order of business.

She was sound asleep, naked and only half covered by the sheets, as I slipped quietly into the room. I grabbed my clothes off the hanger by the door and took them with me into the bathroom. Clean, dressed, and with a flood of exercise-induced endorphins in my veins, I emerged a few minutes later and perched on the edge of the bed.

"Diane…" I brushed her hair back gently from her face and she stirred slightly. "Come on, sweetheart. It's time to get up."

She moaned softly, and blinked a few times as she saw me. "Hmm?" That half-awake confusion was such a disorienting place to be. She'd been drinking last night, too. Her last night in Vegas had included a wide variety of liquors. I could only hope she wasn't going to be hung over and sick this morning.

"I've got to get you to the airport. Thought I'd take you to breakfast first." I cupped the side of her face gently with the palm of my hand. "But you can sleep a while longer if you'd prefer."

She moaned again, and pushed herself up slightly. "No… I can get up."

I withdrew my hand and glanced at the clock. "I've got a quick errand to run if you want to get up and get dressed. It should only take me about fifteen minutes, but I can wait if you want to shower. Don't rush on my account."

She smiled, tired. Apparently not too terribly hung over. "Okay."

I returned the smile, and leaned in to kiss her lips lightly. Then, without a word, I headed for the door. Another successful morning. And in another few hours, a client who was officially pleased with her experience in Vegas.

I dropped the keys in my pocket as I headed down the hallway, down the steps at the end. I smiled at the bartender – Jacqueline – as I passed through the casino, and diverted from my intended path to say good morning to her. It was the little things that counted for a lot later. Keeping friendly relations with all the workers around here ensured my autonomy and my safe neutrality. The mob scene of Vegas was no secret. I had so far managed to completely avoid getting into any kind of trouble with them by simply being pleasant. Everyone knew me and everyone knew I wasn't a threat. I stayed out of their business, and they couldn't care less about mine.

I headed down the street to Four Queens, and smiled broadly at the hotel clerk as I leaned on the counter. "Good morning, Angela."

She looked up, and returned the smile. "Templeton. Good morning."

I lowered my voice and leaned in a bit closer. "Listen, a friend of mine is checking in here tomorrow afternoon with his wife. I was wondering if you could tell me what room they're going to be in so I can arrange a warm welcome."

The condescending look she gave me, tipping her head, was expected. "Templeton, you know I can't give out that information."

She'd give me the information. She knew it too. A few well-practiced lines, a coy smile, a bribe of lunch this afternoon, and she whispered it over the counter to me. I smiled as I turned and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Ange. You're a doll."

Now I just had to call for the flowers for Luanne, and the stripper to greet her husband, and I would be all set up for my next assignment. Even though I wouldn't see her until the weekend, it was the little things that counted most.


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**1973**

"Thank you, Templeton." Diane paused at the gate one last time, turning to look at me. "I had a wonderful time."

"You're very welcome," I smiled, handing her the luggage I'd carried in from the cab.

"If you think you'll still be here," she lowered her eyes, "I'd like to come see you again. Maybe in a few months?"

"I'll be here."

She looked back up at me again. Sensing her hesitation at the fact that we were in full view of a crowd, I leaned forward, sliding my hand back into her hair as I kissed her thoroughly. She smiled as she returned it, and finally pulled back slowly. Grinning back at her, I kissed the corner of her mouth once more, quickly.

"Goodbye, then," she whispered.

"Take care, Diane."

I let my touch linger on her cheek as she turned away from me and headed to the gate, handing her ticket over before she disappeared down the long corridor. She didn't look back. I watched her go, hands once again hooked into my pockets, leaning against the pillar in the terminal. Once she was out of sight, I pushed off of the pillar and headed away from the gate with a smile.

My ever-present audience was staring again - this time for a different reason. People had a tendency to stare at things they didn't understand, or didn't approve of. The lingering kiss from a boy who looked barely legal - or less than - to a woman definitely old enough to be his mother certainly qualified. I ignored them, heading for the bar at the front of the airport. Sometimes the stares were welcome, encouraging. But when it came right down to it, I couldn't care less what they thought.

"Hey, Templeton!" The bartender - a tall, lanky black man of about 45 years - greeted me with a smile. "Long time, no see, man!"

"Ah, business has been slow," I answered, sitting on the end of the bar. "Or it doesn't bring me to the airport."

"The usual?"

"Yeah."

A moment later, Mike set down a shot glass of light-colored, Crown Royal whiskey and a glass of water. He lifted his own glass of Coke as I took the shot in hand. "To another day and another dollar," Mike declared.

I smirked, and touched my glass to Mike's. "Cheers."

Mike laughed as he watched me drink - two seconds flat before the glass was on the bar top again. "I don't know how you do it, man."

"Do what?" I reached for the water, and took a sip. It eased the burn, but prolonged the taste. Just the way I wanted it.

"Whatever it is you do."

"It's not hard." I set the water back down, but kept my hands wrapped around it. "You just have to know how to read people. I'll bet you do it all the time without even thinking about it, working this job."

"Not what I meant, kid."

I waited for an explanation, ignoring the "kid" comment. He knew that drove me nuts.

"I mean your self respect, man," Mike went on, leaning over the bar.

I looked away, rolling my eyes. "Shit, Mike, not this again."

"You're only nineteen-years-old, boy, you got your whole life ahead of you. All the possibilities in the world and man, you got _talent_! I can see it written all over you. You should go into show business, kid."

I smirked as I looked back. "What the hell kind of job do you think I do?" I challenged.

He laughed. "Oh, now we don't wanna go there."

"It's all show business." I shrugged, glancing away. "All bright lights and brilliant performance."

"I think I'd prob'ly classify it more along the lines of 'customer service.'"

I gave him a mock glare, but I wasn't really all that offended. I knew how Mike felt about my chosen profession. And while I cared more about what he thought than most, I was still not going to indulge him with detailed explanations and justifications for why I had chosen the lifestyle I had.

I noticed a man across the bar who was waving. Good. A welcome interruption. "Speaking of customer service..."

I gestured, directing Mike's attention, and he turned immediately to serve him. I took a minute to scan my surroundings. I liked this bar for its vantage point. At the end of the square-shaped counter, I could put my back to the wall and see the lounge, the terminal, and the tarmac all at the same time. It helped me to regroup, to reorient myself with reality after the emotional escapades of my contracts. The bar was the "safe place" I always knew I could go after the final, dramatic kiss goodbye and before the long, relaxing nap that was awaiting me as soon as I got back to my own hotel.

After lunch with Angela.

I glanced up as Mike approached again, carrying an envelope. "And speaking of your secret rendezvous," he teased, handing it over. "Some woman dropped this here for you a few days ago."

Amused, and curious, I took the envelope and slit it open.

"And I don't like bein' your mail carrier, by the way," he continued, though from his tone it was clear that he didn't mind it all that much. "Don't you be telling your women to bring they love letters here."

I smiled as I unfolded the letter. "I don't," I assured Mike. "They're supposed to send it to my hotel. I'm surprised anyone even knows I come here."

"Man, how do you hook all these women, anyhow?" he asked as I read silently. "You put an ad in all the major newspapers in the country or something?"

"Word gets around," I answered, distracted by the letter. Samantha was in town, unexpectedly. Funny that she knew she could reach me here easier than at Circus Circus. I smiled. So much for that nap.

"Oh yeah? How's that? 'Cause I mean, you're cute, kid. But you ain't that cute."

I didn't answer as I refolded the note and tucked it back into the envelope. He was staring at me curiously. "No, seriously," I said. "It's all word of mouth at this point. I don't agree to see anyone who can't give me a name of someone who referred them."

It was safer that way. And a better guarantee that I wouldn't have to put up with all the shit that had come with this job at the beginning. Not to mention if they were wealthy enough to travel in the circles with my existing clients, I was sure to get paid. And paid well. I could treat them with respect knowing they would do the same.

Mike laughed. "You actually remember all those names?"

"Of course I do." I smiled.

"Uh huh." Clearly, he was skeptical. He nodded towards the envelope that I was shoving into my back pocket. "So what's it say?"

"It's from a woman I... did business with."

He rolled his eyes. "Well, I figured that much."

"She's in town. Wondering if I was available."

"So?"

I sipped my water. "So, what?"

"You gonna meet up with her?"

"Of course." I glanced up and gave a smile. "It's easy money. And she's only here for one more night."

**1986**

Heather answered the phone, but not until it had been ringing almost long enough for the answering machine to get it. "Hello?

"Hey. Where's your mom?"

She sighed audibly. "Sitting in the living room, moping and mourning her pitiful existence."

I laughed. "So I heard."

"Let me guess. James called you."

"Yeah, he did."

"You know, sooner or later, he's _really _going to have to get his own life and stop trying to fix everyone else's."

"Probably later. Let me talk to your mom."

"Hang on."

She set the phone down, and I heard her yell down the stairs. A few seconds later, Jessica picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Busy?"

The phone clicked as Heather hung up.

"Not particularly." Her resigned tone made it clear that both of her children had hit the nail right on the head. She sounded thoroughly miserable, and thoroughly bored. "Why?"

"Go to the living room window."

There was a long pause before she pulled the curtains aside. Her eyes almost immediately locked with mine. I was parked right in front of her house, leaning casually against the side of my car with the phone to my ear. I'd learned a long time ago that it was harder for her to make an excuse if I showed up at her doorstep.

"Come on," I invited with a smile. "Let me take you out."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"Because it beats sitting alone in your living room all evening."

She looked away from the window, hesitating for a long moment. "I'm not even dressed."

"I'll wait."

She stared at me, but my smile didn't falter. Finally, hesitantly, she nodded. "Okay. I'll need a few minutes."

"Not a problem. Dress comfortable. I'm going to run and get a bottle of wine."

"Okay."

"Be back in a few."

I turned, and hung up the phone before crawling back into the driver's seat, leaving her standing at the window with the phone in her hand.

**1973**

I leaned on the frame of the hotel room door as I rapped on it quietly, standing too close for her to see who it was if she looked out the peep hole. "Who is it?" the voice came through the door.

I smiled. "Room service. You ordered some guy."

A second later, I heard the chain unlatch and the door swung open. Moving instantly, I stepped inside, catching the young woman around the waist. She shrieked in surprise, holding my shoulders as I swept her off her feet and twirled her around. When I set her back down, with a quick kiss, she was laughing. "Templeton," she greeted me. The coy look was strangely complimentary to the dark look in her eyes. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

"Well." I hooked the front pockets of her jeans and jerked her forward, almost pulling her off balance as I ground my hips on hers. "You were wrong."

The kiss that followed was slow and sensual, filled with the kind of passion that could easily make two people rip off their clothes and find the nearest available flat surface. I didn't let her get that far before I pulled back, slowly.

"So," I clipped, still standing close enough to feel her warm breath on my lips. "Dinner plans?"

"None yet," she smiled up at me.

"Well, then, allow me. What are you in the mood for?"

**1986**

"Thank you for this."

I chuckled as I swallowed a mouthful of lobster and washed it down with a sip of white wine. "You can stop thanking me, Jess." I smiled as her as I set my glass back down. "It was my pleasure, really."

She lowered her head. "Well, that may be true. But I know James called you."

"Only because you wouldn't."

She glanced up at me briefly, then sighed as she looked away. I set my fork down, finished. "Seriously, Jess," I started quietly, pushing my plate forward and leaning on the table. "You could've called."

She shrugged. "I guess I just assumed you would be out with some bimbo."

"You assumed wrong."

"Even so..." She finished one last bite, then pushed her plate away as well, keeping her eyes down. "I just don't think I'm quite desperate enough to start calling guys and begging for dates."

"Who said anything about begging?" I lifted my glass and took a sip from it. "You have an open invitation. You would be answering."

"Why?"

The question was startling. I shook my head slightly, confused. "Why what?"

She looked up suddenly, staring me straight in the eye. "Why do I have an open invitation?"

I smiled - a genuine smile, not the fake one that would have ordinarily accompanied such an evening. "Because I consider you a friend," I answered honestly. "And I like to think that I treat my friends with priority."  
>"Priority?" She laughed.<p>

"Over those bimbos you were talking about."

She chuckled quietly as she lowered her head again, shaking it. "You amaze me, Face."

"That's the idea. But I get the feeling you're not as hard to impress as you'd like me to believe."

She raised a brow as she glanced back up at me. "What do you mean by that?"

I set my glass down and reached for the bottle, slowly pouring more for both of us. "If it's that foreign to you that somebody would actually care when you're sitting at home, miserable, maybe you need to rethink your choice of friends."

"I don't really have friends," she admitted. "I mean, a few that I work with but nobody I'm really close with anymore."

"I've noticed." I set the bottle back down. "What I don't understand is why."

She shrugged, not answering.

"And it kind of makes me wonder..." I lowered my eyes, keeping them off of her in the most unthreatening pose I could manage. "What is it you're looking for, Jess?"

"In what? In you?"

"Me, men, friendship in general. I don't understand the way you think."

"That's a first."

I shrugged. Actually, I understood better than she needed to know. But I wanted her to do the talking for once.

She sighed, and hesitated for a long moment. "You're... different," she finally said.

I smiled. Funny how she latched onto only one of those topics. "I know," I answered. "That's not really what I was asking."

"I know what you were asking."

"So you're choosing not to answer?"

She was quiet.

"Alright," I conceded. I took a drink and set it down again. "So let's talk about me, then."

She glanced up, wary of the open invitation.

"What is it you want from me? Because you seem stunned at every friendly gesture, and you ought to know me better than that by now. So that only leaves the fact that I'm not fitting well into your existing categories."

"Existing categories?" She seemed confused.

"You want more than friendship. You want less than relationship."

Her eyes widened dramatically as she laughed. "Wow, Face. I didn't know that word was in your vocabulary."

I smiled confidently back at her as I shrugged. "I'm just asking."

She studied me for a moment, then took a sip of the freshly-poured wine. I waited patiently for her to find words. They didn't come until the waiter had returned to take our plates, and offered a dessert which we both declined.

Finally, turning her head to look at the carpet, she answered in a voice so low I could barely hear her. "I fall in love too easy, Face. You know that."

I smiled, and paused for a drink before answering. "I'm not sure if that answers both of my questions or neither."

She looked back up. "Suffice it to say I certainly don't want to fall in love with you."

"I think that would probably be unwise," I agreed. "But if that's the case, you should feel free to call me. As a friend."

"Having you there to call is part of what I'm afraid of."

"Why? That's what friends are for, Jess."

She sighed deeply as she leaned forward, hiding her face in her hands. "I'll be real honest with you, Face," she whispered. "I've been going back and forth all day between being relieved and really hating myself that I didn't take you up on that offer last night."

"What offer?" I asked innocently, though I knew exactly what she was talking about. "You wanted to talk, I wanted to listen."

She lowered her hands and glared at me. "That's not what you meant and we both know it."

I smiled, but didn't answer. Whatever wasn't said could be denied, and it was better for both of us that it remained that way.

"There's part of me that..." She sighed deeply as she looked away. "I've just been hurt so many times that I can't go through this again. Not one more time. But I..." She shook her head, trailing off.

"But you will," I said quietly. "You'll go through it again with another guy who will put you through it all over again."

She glared at me. "Gee, Face, thanks for the encouragement."

I shrugged. "You make your own decisions, Jessica. I don't give my opinion unless it's solicited. But if you ever want to know what I think about your boyfriend? It'll take me all of two minutes to get a reading on him, guaranteed."

She glared at me and I glanced away.

"Or you could just listen to your son," I suggested. "Because his instincts seem to be right on, too."

"He won't be happy with any man that I date."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not you."

I wasn't sure why that caught me off guard. I kept my eyes away from her as I considered my response carefully. "If it's any consolation to you," I finally said, keeping my tone quiet and gentle, "I don't want to hurt you. And I don't have any intention of doing so."

Before she could answer, the waiter approached, and I smiled broadly as I took the check.

"I know you don't," she finally answered as the waiter turned away again. She watched him go. "If you did, you could've done that a long time ago."

"The lines aren't blurred for me, Jess." I reached for my wallet. "You don't have to worry about accidentally falling into bed with me. I understand friendship, and that's all I want this to be."

"So what the hell was that last night?"

A hint of irritation had crept into her voice. I chose my words carefully.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, you won't hear anything like that out of me again. It was just a question."

"It wasn't a question; it was an invitation."

I sighed. "What do you want, Jess? An apology? I can't take it back."

"What do _you _want, Face?"

I stared her straight in the eye as she looked up, her gaze locking on mine. She was looking for something - a specific response. But I didn't have it. I bought a few seconds as I finished the last of the wine, and handed the cash to the waiter as he returned. But eventually, I had to answer blindly.

"I told you, I consider you a friend," I said. "I don't want to complicate things."

"Sex wouldn't complicate that?" she challenged, brows raised.

I paused, and studied her for a moment, not answering. Then, finally, I sighed. "Sex doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot to me, to be honest," I answered quietly. "It's a basic human instinct. Or it's a tool."

"A tool for what?"

I smiled. "It has many uses." I rose to my feet, offering her a hand. "None of which I intend to employ on you."

"So that was 'basic human instinct' talking, then?" she asked as she took the offered hand.

"You're a very attractive woman."

"Yes, a lot of men seem to think so," she replied, her voice dripping with cynicism.

"But unlike them, I made an offer, not a request. There's a big difference."

"Is there?"

I pulled her toward me as she found her footing. Right in the middle of the restaurant, I drew her in close, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist. She gasped in surprise, and her cheeks flushed as I lowered my voice to a whisper, leaning in close. "You have instincts too, Jessica."

She shut her eyes. "You're very good at this, Face," she breathed, feeling her chest tighten. "But the answer is still no."

I smiled as I pressed my lips to her ear. "What makes you think I was offering?"

I didn't wait for her to respond as I pulled away and led her by the arm toward the front door of the restaurant.


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

**1986**

"Thank you."

The evening was over, the public display had finished. I stood on the sidewalk that led to the driveway, one foot up on the porch step and hands in my pockets. "Have a good night, Jess," I offered quietly, sincerely.

She paused, one hand on the door. "If you, um..." She lowered her head, pushing her hair back behind her ear. Then she breathed deep as she looked back up at me. "I won't call you," she finally managed. "You know that."

"James will," I answered confidently.

"Or _you_ could call."

I studied her quietly. It was a constant stream of mixed signals from her. In a lot of ways, I'd given up trying to read them. I simply made my stand, and let her determine her own reactions. But every so often, she still threw me a curve ball. "Do you want me to?" I asked, genuinely curious.

She considered it for a long moment. "I don't know," she finally admitted.

I'd figured as much. One more way to jumble those emotions inside of her. "Then how about we just leave it to James' discretion for the time being?"

She laughed quietly. "That sounds so pathetic."

"No, it doesn't."

"I shouldn't be relying on my kids to set up my dates for me." She lowered her eyes. "But ever since Momma died..."

"You live with them," I said quietly. "They probably know you better than anyone. And they're smart kids."

Jessica nodded, tight smile in place. "Yeah."

"Convey my thanks to your son." I grinned. "It was a wonderful evening."

"I will."

I didn't move as she turned away, and pushed the front door open to the house. "Jess?"

She paused, looking back.

"Sleep well, okay?"

She forced another smile, and nodded as she stepped back, closing the door behind her. With a deep sigh, I turned and headed back to my car.

**1973**

The shower was normally a very integral part of my operations. It allowed time to reflect on dinner, on what I knew about my client and what I still needed to know. But I'd answered those questions of Samantha the first time she'd come to Vegas. So I was neither surprised nor concerned when she stepped into the shower stall with me - unannounced and uninvited.

I didn't mind.

From the shower to the bathroom counter to the hotel room wall and finally the bed was all one long orgasm for her. By the time she was finally satisfied, I was so exhausted, I could barely keep my eyes open. Damn, she wore me out. She had more energy than all my other clients combined. Though that probably had a lot to do with her age - she was drastically younger than all of my other clients, too.

Lying on my back on top of the sheets, I put one hand over my eyes and the other on my chest as I tried to catch my breath. My abs and arms and sides hurt, but there wasn't a tense muscle in my entire body. My chest rose and fell with deep, calming breaths as I drifted in and out for a few long minutes.

"You're not tired, are you?" she teased.

I moved my hand just enough to glance at her with one eye, but didn't otherwise move. She was smiling at me knowingly. And still full of energy. God damn. "You wear me out, Sam. You know that?"

She laughed, and pushed herself up, throwing one leg over me so she was straddling my waist. Jesus, was she kidding?

Still trying to steady my breathing, I looked up at her for a long moment. "You're going to have to give me a few minutes if you expect me to go again."

She smiled and leaned down, pressing her breasts down onto my chest. Her skin slid on mine, lubricated by the light sheen of sweat, as her mouth closed over mine, kissing deeply. She did expect it again. Well, hell.

Samantha pushed my limits in more ways than one. She was definitely unique. I'd met her almost a year ago - one of my first clients when I'd arrived in Vegas. Since then, she'd been in and out of my life at least once a month. I didn't mind in the least; it was good money from a client I actually enjoyed being with. She was fun, if a bit too happy and chatty. And she was one of the few people who came to Vegas, over and over again, looking for nothing more than the sex. She paid me a hell of a lot of money, not for a fantasy or an experience of a lifetime; she just wanted to fuck until neither one of us could see straight.

Go figure.

Of course, there were disadvantages to that when she was, in fact, so young and energetic and sexual. She wore me the hell out with little regard for my physical limitations. She felt supremely _entitled_ - whether by who and what she was or by the money, it didn't really matter - to anything she wanted. It wasn't a stretch to say she was demanding, and it was a constant challenge to meet her demands. I liked a challenge. And I liked her, more than I would ever let her know. She was a good client and, in a way, a friend. But sometimes the selfish routine made me just plain sick of her by the time it was over.

Thirty minutes later, she was screaming again. I held her down as I collapsed, unable to move, on top of her. "That's it," I declared, before she could get any bright ideas. "That's officially all you're getting out of me tonight."

She laughed, delicate fingers stroking my side. The touch was more of a comfort than an exciting one. "That's okay. I think I'm satisfied."

Thank God.

"Ah, well, good." Eyes closed, I took a few more deep, slow breaths. "Because I don't think I can... move."

She laughed softly as she kissed my shoulder, then up along my neck. I was aware of it, but I had no energy for a response. I yawned, eyes closed, as I finally managed the energy to roll to my side on top of the blankets. The whole room smelled like sweat and sex, and I hadn't the slightest inclination to change that.

"We should take a cool shower," she announced. Apparently she was thinking the same thing.

"You go right ahead," I slurred, feeling the stress and tension subside into a relaxed, comfortable darkness. "I'm not moving."

She laughed as she slid off of the bed and struck a seductive pose before she headed for the bathroom. I would never understand how she managed to _walk _after that...

I was sleeping lightly when she returned, only vaguely aware of her as she sat down with her back against the headboard and lit a cigarette. "Aw... you look tired, sweetie," she teased, condescendingly, as she stroked my hair back lightly.

I didn't bother moving, or turning my head away from the pillow. "Fuck you."

She laughed, just the way I knew she would. "Are you sure? 'Cause I'd be up for it if you insist..."

I groaned, and pulled my head away from her hand. There was nothing safe to say. I said nothing. She laughed softly as she slid a hand around the back of my neck and guided my head until it was resting on her lap. I didn't resist her. For a few long moments, I lay still, listening to the sound of her inhale and exhale on the cigarette, feeling the soft caress of her fingers through my hair.

"So?" she finally whispered.

"So what?"

"Well, now that we've taken care of formalities..."

I smiled. She would consider all of this a mere formality...

"How have you been?" she asked, scratching my scalp lightly.

"Alright."

"Just alright?"

I never really knew how to answer that question. My life changed little from day to day. What was there to talk about? To gauge happiness or success or any other measure of how I was doing, there would have to be change.

"Business that good?" she asked when I didn't respond.

I chuckled. Leave it to her to ask a question like that. "Business is slow."

"I see."

She let the silence stretch. Finally, I worked up the energy to slip under the blankets. She followed, lying beside me, propped up on her elbows. I opened one eye to look at her, but didn't move. "I have a friend who wants to meet you."

Hmm. That was a first. I took a deep breath and let it out slow, tucking one arm under my head. I left the other on the mattress at my side. "What's her name?" I asked, letting my eyes slide closed again.

"Tamika."

I yawned. I couldn't help it. "She sounds pretty."

"Oh, does she?"

"Is she pretty?"

"She's very pretty." She paused. "She's also colored. Does that bother you?"

"Not at all." I yawned again, and stretched to try and stop it from happening a third time. "When is she coming?"

"She's here. You can meet her tomorrow morning."

I couldn't suppress the groan.

Samantha laughed. "What?"

"I'm not sure I'll be ready to meet her tomorrow morning." I wasn't sure I'd be able to move by tomorrow morning.

"I thought you said business was so slow."

"It has been. Until tonight." I opened my eyes to look up at her. "You left your letter at the airport," I reminded her. "I got it on my way back from dropping off a client at the gate. You know I'm already tired. Are you trying to run me into the ground?"

She was probably the only woman I could talk to like that. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it when I talked to her about my clients, my work. I didn't understand why but at the moment, I didn't care. There was a very valid point to what I was saying. Hopefully she would get it.

"You're complaining." She snickered. "Templeton, you are quite simply the only man I've ever met in my entire life who complains about good sex."

"I'm not complaining." She didn't get it. She was still using that teasing tone. Oh well.

"You sound like it."

I watched her for a moment. She was pouting at me, and I couldn't tell how close she was to being genuinely hurt and how much of it was just an act. Her long, auburn hair was half-hiding her face, still wet from the shower. I reached up and tucked it behind her ear.

"Sorry," I whispered. "I have no complaints."

Her pout turned to a smile. She was just playing. I should've known that. She was harder than most to offend. I returned the smile, studying her carefully. She laughed as she covered my eyes with her hand. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" I asked innocently.

"Like you're trying to figure out what I'm thinking."

She took her hand down and I smirked up at her. "I don't need to try," I answered confidently. "I already know what you're thinking."

"Oh yeah?" she challenged, tipping her head. "What am I thinking?"

I sighed deeply. "You're thinking that you're going to stay another night and make sure that your friend and I are properly introduced."

Samantha laughed. "Oh, you're very good."

I rolled my eyes. It hadn't been that hard to figure out. "I know you."

"Oh, come on!" Apparently, she was unimpressed by my lack of enthusiasm.

I reached for her and pulled her down on top of me, guiding her head to my chest. "Come on, what?"

"Seriously Tem, you amaze me. I already told you she was pretty. Hell, I think it's _you _who should be paying _us_."

"It's not that," I answered quietly. "You already know I'd do it even if she wasn't pretty."

"What is it, then?" She looked up, resting her chin on my chest. "We'll have a good time."

"I'm sure we will."

"Why do you even do this if you don't enjoy it?"

I tipped my head down to look at her. "You said yourself, I'm good at it."

"So? You're good at other things too." She smiled. "Hell, I've seen you at the card tables."

Not often. Part of that whole "non-threatening" bit. I played for fun, if anything. Never for profit. Which was not to say I often lost money.

"You know as well as I do that you don't _have _to do this, Tem."

"No. I don't."

"So why do you?"

I shrugged - a safe non-answer.

"Yeah, so you're not going to tell me. What else is new?"

I laughed at her pout, and she traced her fingernail down the side of my neck, circling in little designs as she reached my collarbone.

"You know, most men don't -"

"I'm not most men," I cut in.

She looked up at me, startled by the interruption.

"You'll get yourself into a whole mess of confusion trying to compare me to other men, Sam," I warned with a smile. "You like to try and figure me out, I'm telling you that's not the way to do it."

Her look was amused as she tipped her head, studying me carefully. "You treat it like a job. But you don't do it for the money. So what do you do it for?"

"The charming company." I smiled confidently.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Tem, I'm serious."

"So am I. Do you think I would've come here on such short notice if I didn't actually wantto see you?"

Her eyes brightened a little. Ah, so that was what she was looking for. "Really?"

I nodded. "You're the exception to the rule, Sam." The _special _exception. I stroked her emotions gently, expertly, and she responded with a satisfied smile.

"What rule?"

"Most of the time, this is a job. And it can be a very stressful one."

"What's so stressful about it?" She snickered. "Besides the occasional ugly woman."

I rolled my eyes. It wasn't the first time we'd had this conversation, in some form or another. She always oversimplified it. "That's the least of my worries."

"So what do you worry about?" she prodded.

I didn't answer. She wouldn't understand if I tried to explain it. I had to wait for her to come up with the answer to her own question.

"Have you ever totally bombed a date?" she finally asked.

"No."

She laughed at the instant response. "You lie."

"No, really," I answered, completely honest for once. "I haven't."

"Then what's so hard about it?"

I sighed. "Playing with people's emotions is always tricky."

"Well, if that's what they want, they know the risks."

"That's what everyone wants," I said, watching her. I was cautious of my wording. She wanted to feel like I was opening up to her - and I was, to some limited extent. But I wasn't about to tell her that the only reason I was doing it was because I knew it was what she was looking for from me.

_Everyone _wanted their emotions validated, indulged, stroked and caressed with gentle, loving care. The emotions varied as much as the women themselves. Most of the women who filtered in and out of my life were not complicated. They were lonely, they were in denial about their age or depressed by it - one of the two. They were overweight, or over-bored, or under-appreciated. They were all well-maintained, at least financially, and usually it was not from the sweat of their own brow. They wanted to be loved and appreciated and treated like they were special and beautiful.

And then there was Sam. Young, pretty, playful Sam with a libido that outmatched mine. She had no such esteem problems, no such desire to be loved. But she did want to be special. It was enough for her to maintain a friends-with-benefits relationship, to talk about my job as if this was just another day at the office, and to pay me at the end of the night. Figuring out what she got out of that was always tricky.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked, tipping my head to study her carefully.

She smiled, resting her cheek on her hands. "Sure."

"You're not... my usual clientele."

She laughed. "I figured that."

"You're young, attractive..."

"And wealthy," she reminded me with a smile.

"And wealthy, though that _is _my usual clientele."

"Naturally."

I reached up, stroking her hair gently. "So why the hell do you come here?"

She smiled, but didn't answer, so I continued.

"What's really interesting to me is that we always end up with this same kind of shop talk. How this is a job for me. You know why I do it."

"Do I?" she teased.

"I could play these games with you all night but when it comes right down to it, you know damn well I'm going to tell you anything you want to hear to get that cash envelope from you when you get back on the plane."

She laughed.

"So why do you come?" I asked again.

"Why do you think?"

"Well, the sex can't be _that _great."

She laughed. "Oh, don't sell yourself short."

"No, but I'd have to be pretty egotistical to think that that's the only reason you're here. There's a lot of other guys who live a lot closer to San Francisco. And you and I both know you could have any one of them."

"Maybe," she granted. "You didn't answer my question, though."

"I don't know the answer. That's why I asked you in the first place."

"Well, guess," she teased with a laugh. "Why do you think I'm here?"

I traced the line of her jaw, and ran my fingers lightly down the side of her neck. "Is it a game for you? Watching me try to figure you out?"

"Sometimes."

I studied her carefully. "But then you don't like when I look at you that way. So what is it?"

"Keep guessing."

My only other guess was likely to insult her, but she was pressing for it. I kept my tone light as I offered, "You know, I'm sort of inclined to think that it's the fact that you're paying for it, in and of itself, that gets you off."

She smiled. "You're close."

Well, she wasn't insulted. That was nice. "Care to elaborate?"

She sighed deeply, and moved to lie beside me, propping her head up on her hand. "I never told you where all my money came from, did I?"

"I make it a point not to ask."

"Well, let me tell you," she smiled. "Just between you and me."

"Mmm hmm."

"How old do you think I am?"

"Your original letter said you were 26. That was almost a year ago."

"I lied."

"I know."

"So how old do you think I am?"

"Twenty?"

She laughed. "That's pretty good. How did you know that?"

I shrugged. "Educated guess. Though I have to admit, you're the first woman who claimed to be _older _than she really was."

"I'm actually 21," she said. "And I've been married for two years. Do you know how old my husband is?"

"I didn't know you had a husband."

"Yes, you make it a point not to ask about that, too, I'm sure."

I smiled.

"He's 73."

I laughed as I looked away. Jesus...

"Oh, don't roll your eyes at me," she snickered, shoving me. "You do the same damn thing. Every week, you do it."

I looked back at her with a smile. "I didn't say anything."

"It's a game," she said. "I play it well, just like you. But every once in a while, I just want to get away. I want to be the one spoiled and pampered. I want to be the one who matters."

I studied her for a moment, considering that. I could see the parallels. The biggest difference was that she'd married her paycheck, and I rotated through mine. It was the same game - be pretty, charming, fun, and sophisticated. Smile at all the right times and make sure the sex is a perfected art. No wonder she liked the shop talk. It was her shop, too.

Now I just had to get her to spell that out - for her benefit if not mine.

"Alright," I nodded. "Fair enough. But the question still remains - why here? Why me?"

"Because if I told any other guy what I just told you, he would never see me again."

I chuckled. "Now who's selling themselves short?"

"What do you mean by that?"

I studied her for a moment. "You're young, wealthy, and gorgeous. You could have any guy you wanted and you know that. Married or not." My eyes narrowed a little, but I kept smiling. "So what's the real reason?"

She stared back at me for a moment. The jesting look faded first from her eyes, and then from her lips as the smile fell. She lowered her gaze, watching her fingers as she traced my collarbone. She was about to get very honest, I knew. And I had a feeling that was exactly what she wanted out of this night.

"I don't know," she finally answered, quietly. "I guess I feel like..." She fidgeted nervously, and looked back up. "Like I understand you. And you understand me, even if... well, even if you didn't know about... you know."

I didn't speak, just let her think for a moment or two. There wasn't much for me to say. It was her moment of disclosure, of trust and nakedness and vulnerability. That felt good, to most people. I let her enjoy it. "I guess I just don't like feeling... like I'm the only one who would ever do it. Just for the money."

She swallowed hard, and I smiled reassuringly as I reached up, stroking the side of her face with my palm. She didn't need words. She just needed acceptance and understanding. That was easier to give without words.

After a long moment, she forced a smile back at me. "Besides," she whispered. "I like you. You're fun."

"I like you too," I whispered, touching her lips with my thumb. I sighed deeply and slid my hand back into her hair, pulling her down again, gently. "But I need to get some sleep if you expect me to be fun tomorrow."

She laughed quietly, snuggling close to me. "You do that, then," she whispered, her breath warm on my neck. "Because I definitely want you to be fun tomorrow."


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**1973**

"Rise and shine, Tem!"

I groaned, and covered my eyes with my hand as some sadistic soul threw the curtains open, letting light into the room. A moment later, that same someone had grabbed my foot and was shaking me. "Come on. I want breakfast."

"What time is it?" I slurred, lowering my hand and looking around for a clock.

"Eight o'clock."

I turned my back to the window, pulling the blankets up around me. "It's not morning for another two hours at least." _At least not when you didn't let me sleep 'til 3 a.m._

She laughed, and I felt the bed depress as she leaned over me. "Come on, you. I told Mika we'd meet her in an hour."

"Mika?" I asked, confused.

She shook me again. "Come on. Up and at 'em soldier."

I reached back blindly, grabbed her around the waist, and dragged her over the top of me before pinning her down to the bed with an arm across her chest with as little movement on my part as possible. "I'm not a soldier," I corrected, eyes still closed. "And I don't do eight a.m."

She laughed quietly. "For what I'm paying you, you should do _six _a.m. And with a smile."

I breathed deep, and rested my head on her shoulder. Six a.m. was actually the norm, when I needed to run, to get away from clients who demanded constant attention. But she didn't need to know that. Right now, I was exhausted.

"Five minutes," I bargained.

"One hour," she reminded me. "And I want breakfast first."

"Five minutes. I'll dress fast." I knew what she wanted, and it wasn't breakfast. She was playful, teasing, looking for a response.

"How 'bout you get up now and dress fast?"

I opened one eye to look at her. "What's your name again?" I jested, returning her efforts.

She shoved me so hard I fell right off the bed and onto the floor with a loud and less-than-graceful thud. She was laughing as I slowly worked to untangle myself from the mess of blankets. Before I had a chance, she was straddling me, pinning my wrists to the floor.

"What's my _name_?" she repeated incredulously.

"Yeah." I smirked up at her. "What is it? Sara? Susan? It's right on the tip of my tongue..."

She grabbed the pillow off the bed and hit me with it. I allowed it once, then caught her wrists as she tried again and pulled her arms apart, forcing her to lower her head closer to mine. "I think I need a refresher course," I whispered, watching her eyes steadily.

Her look darkened as I brushed her lips with mine, teasing lightly. It was exactly what she was looking for. We were definitely going to be late meeting her friend.

**1986**

The phone was ringing. I winced at the sound that seemed to echo in my skull, and covered my eyes with one hand as I reached blindly for the bedside table. I didn't even think about the possible danger of answering someone else's phone until I already had it in hand. "Mmm'lo?"

"Face?" Female voice that knew his name. Not a wrong number or a call for the landlords. "Are you still asleep?"

"I was." I opened my eyes and blinked at the sunlight filtering in through the window. I was surprised to see it so light outside already. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten."

I glanced around the room, and my eyes came to rest on the alarm clock on the bedside table. I spent a moment trying to figure out why I was still so deeply asleep at ten o'clock, and remembered it had been almost three before I'd crawled into bed. That answered that. The next question then was who I was talking to, and why.

I sat up, holding my hand over my eyes. That sunlight was just too damn bright. "Jessica?" I guessed. It sounded like her voice, though I couldn't guess why she'd be calling me. I didn't realize until after I'd spoken that guessing the _wrong _name was a bigger risk than simply asking who she was.

"Face, Heather is missing."

It was Jessica.

"Again?"

A pause. "What do you mean, again?"

Damn it. _Mouth, engage brain._ "I'm sorry. I'm half asleep." I swung my legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, letting my eyes adjust slowly to the brightness in the room. "What do you mean missing?"

"I thought she just went early to school this morning. Sometimes she walks, you know? Instead of riding with James. But the school just called me to verify her absence."

"She's probably playing hookie," I mumbled, unconcerned. "I wouldn't worry too much about it. Kids do that."

"She left sometime last night, Face. Probably while we were out."

"How do you know that?"

"Because she didn't sleep in her bed. I checked. The sheets were still made from yesterday."

"Maybe she made it again this morning."

"No, Face, it's the same as it was yesterday."

I yawned, and stretched my free arm behind my head, rolling my shoulders. It was clear from her tone that there would be no convincing her, whether or not there was any logic involved in that assessment.

"Talked to James at all?"

"He's at school. I'm about to go up there."

"And you want me to go with you," I assumed. Why else would she be calling me?

"Face, she said something just the other day about running off with this guy. What if she actually did it?"

I sighed at the near-hysterics on the other end of the line. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, hmm?" I glanced again at the clock, and the clothes draped over the chair from the night before. "Give me a few minutes to take a shower and I'll come on over. I'm sure she's fine."

"I hope you're right, Face." Jessica's voice was shaky. "I really hope she's just at the mall or something. But I think you're wrong."

**1973**

Tamika really was quite attractive - 32, 24, 34 at about 5'9, with high-heeled boots that made her a few inches taller. Her hair was neat, makeup natural. Nothing about her was flashy. past her shoulders and braided, and my first thought was a curiosity for how long it had taken to do that. It must have been forever.

With Samantha on my arm, casual and relaxed in the late morning sunlight, I glanced around the street once more out of habit before I locked eyes on the target I'd so far only observed in my peripheral vision. She was standing at the entrance to Four Queens, leaning against the wall, and she had already spotted me. As she caught my gaze, she held it. It probably never even occurred to her to look away. Interesting. Most people would.

My first impression told me she was going to be another one like Samantha. Fiery and full of energy. God, I hoped my body could take it. Five hours of sleep was sufficient for most nights. It wasn't sufficient for nights involving Sam and a friend. This was going to be one hell of an evening.

"Mika!"

Samantha shrieked like a young schoolgirl and disengaged herself from me. In stilettos, she only dared to take little steps as she ran with arms spread wide to where her friend was standing. It was quite comical to watch, actually. I didn't bother to hide my smile.

"Ooh girl, where have you been!" Sam cried.

I hung back and watched them embrace, then pull apart.

"I've been busy," Tamika answered simply.

I studied her curiously, amused by her tone. Aloof? She didn't seem half as excited to see Samantha as Sam was to see her. She also hadn't bothered to dress for it. In jeans and a plain black shirt - cut just low enough to catch the eye but not low enough to look trashy - she made Sam look overdressed in her miniskirt and halter top and strappy shoes. It had taken Sam forty-five minutes just to pick out that outfit from the many bags of clothing she'd purchased the day before. I didn't imagine it had taken Tamika a fraction of that time.

Sam placed her hands on her hips. "What's the big idea tellin' me you're too busy to see me, huh?"

"Now, I didn't say that," Tamika corrected. Her diction was perfect. High class... "I said I was too busy to spend the entire week with you."

"Oh, so all I get is a lunch date? After all we've been through together? Girl..." Sam shook her head in exaggerated disbelief.

"I'm sorry." Tamika wasn't sorry.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that I extended my stay for one more night," Sam declared.

Tamika wasn't happy to know that, either.

"If you're not too _busy_ - " Sam clearly did not expect her friend to be too busy "- then perhaps you'll join us for the evening."

In spite of the fact that she was less than thrilled - her eyes gave her away - Tamika smiled and nodded. "Of course."

"This is Templeton." I stepped forward, into the spotlight, with complete confidence. "The friend I told you about."

I offered a hand and a well-practiced smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

No firm handshake. She extended a hand delicately and I responded without thinking, raising it to kiss the backs of her fingers. She was definitely schooled. I wondered where and by whom.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she replied, sounding almost disinterested. But from the way she looked me up and down - very deliberately - she was clearly sizing me up before I'd even given her hand back. It seemed a very abrupt change of tone. She had to be doing it on purpose - mixing signals so that I couldn't get a good reading on her.

I liked that. A different kind of challenge. She'd be fun to figure out.

"So," Samantha interrupted, latching onto Tamika's arm and directing her into the casino. "How would you like to spend the one day that we have together?"

**1986**

"I don't know where Heather is." The look on James' face was worried. Not quite as worried as his mother's, but that was to be expected. "I usually don't see her until sixth period. I thought she'd just walked up to school early this morning."

"Do you know where she went last night?" I asked calmly, leaning against the brick wall near the front doors of the high school. Jessica was controlling her hysterics well, but I could see them simmering. I wished she would knock that off. The nervous shifting, anxious fidgeting... I still wasn't convinced that Heather was anywhere but at the mall.

James was staring at me, dumbfounded. Finally, he shook his head in answer to my question. "I wasn't even home last night. I was out at the movies with my friends until midnight." He looked at Jessica. "Remember?"

She nodded, hugging her arms tightly across her chest. "I remember."

"You guys got home before I did."

"What about her boyfriend?" Jessica questioned. Her voice was shaky. "When was the last time you saw him?"

James shook his head. "I hardly ever see him. I mean, he's out of school so..."

"Okay." I lowered my head for a moment, considering that, then looked back up at James. "Do you know who her best friend is?" There were two ways to know a woman's secrets - her diary and her best friend. If she'd really done anything that we needed to be concerned about, either one of those two places would have a record of it.

"Kim Optman," James said quietly.

"Is she here today?"

He nodded.

"When is her lunch and where does she go?"

James shifted uncomfortably, casting a nervous glance at his mother. He didn't want to get his sister in trouble. But apparently, he considered the threat great enough to risk it. Maybe there was something to this paranoia after all.

"She's got first lunch," he finally said. "In about another hour. And she usually goes out back to where the kids all smoke." He lowered his eyes. "Heather goes there too."

I glanced at Jessica, who was staring at James with her jaw dropped. Apparently she hadn't known that. How could she not? I tucked that question aside for later, and all of the questions about what else Jessica might not know.

"Jess, would you recognize her?"

Pulling herself together, Jessica nodded.

"Alright." I turned to James. "We're going to go find out if her boyfriend's still in town. If you see Kim, don't talk to her. Avoid her. Understand?"

James nodded.

I clapped a hand over his shoulder and gestured back to the doors. "Go on back to class. Don't worry about your sister."

"I want to go with you."

I'd been wondering when that would come up. Brows raised, I looked to Jessica. It didn't matter to me one way or another if he came. Actually, having the kid with us could be a valuable tool. He knew Heather - and her friends - a hell of a lot better than I did.

Jessica wrung her hands, and nodded. Whether she saw the logic, or just lacked the will to argue, I wasn't sure. "I don't care."

"Alright, give her your keys," I instructed. James hurriedly reached into his backpack. "You know where this guy works, right?"

She nodded.

"Go see if he came into work this morning. Or if he was supposed to. James, you're coming with me."

James smiled, handing his keys to his mother. "Awesome. Where are we going?"

I turned, starting into the parking lot. "We're going to go check his house."

"His house?" Jessica repeated, confused. "You know where he lives?"

I smiled as I reached into my pocket, withdrawing a plastic card. Jessica snatched it, and stared wide-eyed. "How did you get his driver's license?"

"I borrowed it," I answered. "Figured it might be good to know where he lives if Heather's so in love with him."

Jessica stared. "What? Wait... When did you...? Have you met him?"

I took the card back and slipped it into my pocket as I approached my car. Better not to answer that question. "If you find out anything, call me."

Jessica was still staring as I slipped into the driver's seat with a smile and wave at her. "Can we take the top off?" James asked enthusiastically, before he climbed in.

"Not right now."

"Man, I love your car." James slipped into the seat next to me and closed the door as the ignition turned over. As he strapped his seatbelt across him, he looked over at me. "How _did _you get his driver's license?"

"He left it in his pants. Which he left in his car."

"Huh?"

"It's a long story."

"You took his wallet?"

"No, I took his license." I pulled out of the parking space, watching as Jessica finally made her way toward James' car. "I left his wallet. He probably doesn't even realize it's gone."

"Why do you say that?"

I glanced at him. "When people get a lost wallet back, they check for credit cards and cash. A lot of times, they don't check for their driver's license. At least not right away."

"And you left the credit cards and cash?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

James glanced away, thoughtfully. "I'll remember that."

I laughed. "I'd rather you didn't." I glanced both ways down the parking aisle before pulling through a stop sign. "You shouldn't have any reason to be taking anybody's wallet."

"And you do?" James smirked.

I opened my mouth to respond, but thought better of it. Better to just drive.


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**1973**

The bar at the Plaza Hotel was noticeably quieter than most. It was against the wall - saloon style and separated from the noisy slot machines by two rows of very quiet poker tables with brilliant overhead chandeliers and mirrors on the ceiling. It was one of the less glittery casinos, and less crowded. It also gave me a view of three exists from the bar. I was comfortable here.

Samantha was already well on her way to being drunk. Tamika had been nursing the same beer for over forty-five minutes. I watched her with amusement as I sipped my glass of Coke. She didn't seem to be enjoying this half as much as Sam was.

"Girl, you should come out to Frisco sometime," Sam said loudly. Liquor had a tendency to make her volume rise. "Get some fun in the sun, work on your tan."

I raised a brow at that, glancing first at Samantha and then at her dark-skinned friend. Was she serious? Mika sighed as she reached for another cigarette. "I'll do that," she answered offhandedly. Apparently, she assumed Sam was serious.

"Good! I'll book you a flight just as soon as I get back." Sam was also drunk, and liable to say or do just about anything. Mika had better be careful.

I had a light ready as soon as Mika found her cigarette. She smiled politely at me as she leaned forward. "Thank you."

"No problem."

She caught my wrist before I could pull my hand back. Startled, I flipped the lighter closed, but left my hand still, waiting for her to do whatever it was she was going to do. Leaving the cigarette between her lips, she used her other hand to take the lighter. I let her have it, studying her curiously.

She looked at it - the bottom first to check the date and then the engraving on the side. It was gaudy - a peace sign on one side and the "make love, not war" slogan on the other. She handed it back to me after a long moment and looked away as she took the cigarette away from her mouth and tapped it in the ashtray.

"So are you one of those free love and world peace types?" she asked with clear disgust.

It was the first thing she'd said to me directly since we'd been introduced. I raised a brow, and hesitated a moment before slipping the lighter back into my pocket. She wanted to talk politics as an introductory conversation? She was either reckless or trying to make a point, one of the two - and she didn't strike me as reckless.

"Love isn't free," I answered with a smile. "In Vegas, it comes at an hourly rate."

She laughed loudly, but there was no humor in it - only a touch of sarcasm. "Oh, so you're funny."

"I try." I sipped my drink. "And for the record, I don't think there's a man alive who wouldn't like to see world peace. We just all want it on our own terms. And therein lies the problem."

She studied me for a long moment, critical but not challenging. That last line had touched a nerve with her - an appeal to intellect. She probably wasn't used to that from Samantha or her friends. I saw her process it slowly, but she didn't have a chance to respond before Samantha stepped between the two of us and grabbed the back of my head, fingers in my hair.

My eyes widened in surprise but I didn't resist her as she pulled my head back and kissed me hard. Instinct was quick to engage, and I returned the kiss shamelessly, letting her lead. She tasted like vodka and cherries. It was an odd combination. What the hell was she drinking, anyways?

"I'm gonna go blow some of my hard-earned money." She smirked at me. "Care to come with?"

"And blow some of your hard-earned money?" I joked.

"Hmm." She turned and put her back to the bar, sliding one hand down the front of my shirt, teasing lightly. "I'll make a deal with you."

I finished my drink, waiting for her to continue.

"I'll put up the money," she said. "Whatever you lose, you repay me half. Whatever you win, you keep half. Deal?"

I laughed. "We're going to need a few more rules than that."

"Such as?"

I eyed her carefully. Even with restrictions, it wouldn't be much of a debate. She'd seen me play at the card tables before. This was a win-win situation for her. Lord knew she was too drunk to play for herself. And Sam knew I was damn good at counting those cards.

"You're going to be the one playing. I'll advise when necessary, but winnings go in your name, not mine." The last thing I needed was to get banned from any one of these casinos. Or to attract attention to myself.

"Okay," she agreed with a shrug.

"I get to call when we stop," I continued.

She nodded.

"And no more drinking until we leave the tables."

She nodded again, gave a broad smile, and held out her hand. "Done."

I smirked slightly. That was entirely too easy. We'd have to see how well she followed through. Getting her to leave would be the hard part. Of course, the worst that could happen was that she wouldn't let it go, and I'd have to stand back and let her lose everything we'd made. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. No loss, no gain, and it would keep her amused.

"Okay." I shook her hand. "Let's go."

She squealed with delight as she took my arm, and I stood, watching out of the corner of my eye as Mika finally finished her beer and stood up beside us.

**1986**

"I don't think anybody's home," James said, frowning deeply as he paused a step behind me.

I tried once more at the apartment door, then glanced both ways down the empty walkway. No one here. No one nearby. No security cameras. Simple locks. With only a brief pause for consideration, I reached into my jacket pocket.

James stared, wide-eyed, as I slipped the narrow picks into the keyhole. Within seconds, the lock clicked, and I pushed the door open, gesturing for him to step inside. "After you." I smiled.

"Where did you learn how to do that?" James asked, stunned.

And once again, I felt like I was contributing to the delinquency of a minor. "Never mind," I replied, stepping inside with him and shutting the door behind me. "Forget you saw that."

Two steps inside the room, I knew that the apartment had been empty for several days. I could feel it in the stale air. But I was cautious nonetheless. I checked the rooms before returning to James. "You see anything in here that's your sister's?" I asked as I ducked back into the bedroom.

"Not right away. But I'll look."

Skin magazines in the bedside table. No condoms. I hoped to God this guy didn't get her pregnant. Judging by his taste in hardcore porn, she'd better hope so too. I shook my head as I dropped the magazines back into place and glanced around.

The entire apartment was a mess. The bedroom was no exception. Clothes and fast food wrappings and cockroaches. I walked into the bathroom - attached to the bedroom - and checked the medicine cabinet. Two prescription bottles. One was for a drug I didn't recognize, and it was in Morgan's name. I grabbed a pen from my pocket and scribbled it on the inside of my hand. I'd ask Jessica; she would know. The other was valium, and it was prescribed to Meredith Butcher. That bottle was almost empty. I frowned and closed the medicine cabinet again.

Nothing in the bathroom could've belonged to Heather. As I headed back out into the main part of the apartment, I almost ran right into James. "I don't see anything of hers here."

"Find his liquor stash. What does he drink?"

James blinked. "What does it matter?"

"Trust me. It matters."

James turned into the kitchen. I went to the living room and ran my fingers over the top of the coffee table. No powder, only dust.

"We've got Vodka," James called out hesitantly from the kitchen.

"What brand?"

"Seagram's?"

A photo on the end table caught my eye, and I picked it up. It was Morgan, with a Vegas showgirl on either side. "What else?" I took the photo out of the frame and slid it into my pocket. I might need it later.

"Um... Bacardi rum and Everclear."

I paused, and looked towards the kitchen. "What proof?"

"Hell, I don't know. I don't know anything about alcohol."

I walked to the kitchen and James stepped aside as I grabbed the near-empty bottle of 190-proof liquor. "This stuff is illegal in California." I looked for the tax stamp. "He got it in Washington."

"What does that mean?"

I didn't answer. I set the bottle back in the cupboard and closed it. So the guy was cheap but resourceful, into liquor but not heavy drugs, and had a few fetishes I would've been happier not thinking about. He also hadn't been in the apartment lately if the maggots on the dirty dishes in the sink were any indication. I checked the fridge for anything with a date, just in case, but there was nothing.

"Alright, let's get out of here," I said quietly, ushering James towards the door. "We need to get back to the school and catch Heather's friend."

"Do you think she'll know where she is?"

"If we're lucky."

**1973**

Main Street Station, for its ambiance and architecture, was definitely my favorite casino. The ceilings were painted gold where they were low, and made of dark wood where they were high. Large, antique chandeliers hung around the wide open room. With arches, stained glass windows, real wood, and beautiful, gold coated statues of women with flowers and flowing robes, it was modeled very much like an old railroad station - in the style of Chicago Union and Michigan Central.

I knew from previous visits that the granite-top bar had excellent wine and only top shelf liquor. The entire place was distinctly lacking the glitter and glamour of the other casinos. It was comfortable, and it was high class, and it was where I came to relax - at least, at much as I could relax in public.

It wasn't bright and glittery enough to provide adequate distraction for Sam, and she found her enjoyment by watching me play a few hands, explaining the rules of the game to her as she hung on my arm. Her "beginner's luck" would work in my favor.

She lost the first five rounds miserably. And in her "one last hand", I watched over her shoulder as she pushed the bet up to ten thousand. And won. She squealed with delight as she regained all of her playing money and a few hundred more. It would keep her going for a while longer.

I advised, but mostly let her play, winning some and losing some. After an hour and a half, I was almost as bored with it as Tamika, and Sam was eyeing the bright and sparkly slot machines. I watched the cards, and chose my moment carefully. She was set up to win big. "Go all in," I whispered in her ear.

Her eyes widened, and she licked her lips with renewed anticipation. It was that adrenaline rush, the gambling excitement. At the mercy of luck... or maybe skill. There was no way for her to know for sure.

Thirty thousand dollars on the table and she hit on a royal flush. She screamed. Mika stared at her, wide eyed. I laughed. "That's it," I declared, the perfect picture of awe and surprise. "You are _done_."

She was ready to be done.

The attendant came and checked her ID and social security number. The process took almost an hour, before we finally left. In the end, we walked out of the casino significantly richer, and Sam walked out convinced that she now knew how to play poker.

"Drinks are on me!" she cried as she stumbled, blinking, out into the bright, late afternoon sunlight. "Where to next?"

Mika checked her watch. "Actually, I should really -"

"No," Sam cut her off. "Absolutely not! You are going to enjoy this, Mika, if it's the last goddamn thing you do." She grabbed a few hundred dollars out of the stack in her purse and waved them at Mika. "Here. Go... have some fun on a slot machine or something."

Mika frowned. "Gambling might be a big deal for you, but it does nothing for me."

Sam latched onto her arm. "Well, at any rate, I am going to get you drunk if it's the last thing I fucking do."

Mika smiled politely, supporting Sam's weight as we walked back towards Fremont. "You are welcome to try, Samantha," she answered. "It could be an interesting experience for both of us."

I glanced at her curiously. Why did I have the sudden feeling of déjà vu?


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

**1986**

"He hasn't been to work since last week Wednesday." Jessica was pacing, wringing her hands.

"Alright," I answered calmly. "Well, he hasn't been missing since last week Wednesday, so that doesn't help us."

She followed a step behind me as I followed James, around the back of the school. "Jesus, Face she really ran off somewhere with him."

Jessica, for all of her calm demeanor under normal circumstances, was a wreck when it came to her daughter. I couldn't help but wonder if this was normal or if it was some brilliant manipulative tactic on Heather's part. Either way, it didn't extend to me.

"Which one is her friend?" I asked James, ignoring the worry and near-hysterics as I surveyed the crowd of smoking teenagers.

"Kim," James said. "Third one from the left. Dark hair."

"Okay." I glanced first at him, then at his mother. "You two hang back a little. Let me do the talking. Understand?"

They nodded in unison, and I checked my wallet before I headed towards the group, making sure I had all the necessary tools readily available.

"Kim Optman?"

The girl looked up and did a double take as she saw me approach. Almost immediately, she gave her best "I'm a grown up" smile. "Who's asking?"

Ah, she was a pro. Flirting with the older guy already, before she had any clue who he was. If I had more time, I probably would've reveled in the opportunity to play her a bit, just for the hell of it. But as it was, time was limited.

Kim saw Heather's mother and brother a few feet behind me, and her smile turned to a scowl. I ignored it. I flashed a badge at her briefly, too quick for her to see it. "James Russel, FBI," I said quickly, firmly.

She choked, and held the cigarette away from her, hiding it behind her back as she coughed. Nice. "I'm looking for your friend, Heather Summers."

"Heather?" she repeated, startled.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Why? Is she in some kind of trouble?" She didn't know whether to be defensive or concerned. Good. That meant she was off balance.

"Do you know this man?" I held up the photo I'd taken from Morgan's apartment.

"I've seen him before," Kim answered hesitantly. Clearly, she didn't want to get her friend in trouble. She knew something. She was just going to need some convincing that Morgan was a bigger threat than I was.

Well, that would be easy enough. "He's currently wanted for murder in three different states," I said flatly, tone and expression both completely serious. Kim's eyes widened in startled fear. "He wines and dines young girls, then convinces them to run away with him. We didn't find the bodies of his first two victims until ten and three months after he'd murdered them, respectively. We need to know where to find your friend. Or at least where to look for her body."

The scare tactics worked like a charm. With wide eyed fear, she didn't even ask any questions. "Oh my God," she muttered, shaking her head. "She was... I just talked to her this morning. She must still be okay. She's _got _to still be okay!"

"Where was she when you talked to her?"

"They were going to Las Vegas," Kim rushed, still shaking her head.

Oh, hell. Of all the places in the world she could've gone, why did it have to be there?

"They were going to get married. I wanted to go with her but when she'd called me, she'd already left. She'd been talking about it for a while but when she actually left it was so sudden..."

I glared at the girl fidgeting in front of me. "Did it ever occur to either of you that sixteen is too young to obtain a marriage certificate without a parent's consent?"

"She said Las Vegas was different. That's what he told her."

The marriage age in Nevada was eighteen. I knew that for a fact.

"Do you have a way to get in touch with her? Or know where she's staying?"

"She said they were staying in a room at Circus Circus. I don't know where that is; I've never been to Vegas."

Great. Could this news get any better? "Did she say what room?"

"No."

I pulled out a business card and handed it to her. "If she calls you, I want you to act normal," I instructed patiently. "It's very important, do you understand?"

Kim nodded, her expression worried.

"Don't tell her what you know. She'll never believe you, for one, and he may be listening. Always assume that he's listening. And if he thinks that we're onto him..."

The girl swallowed hard, and nodded again. "I... I understand."

"When you do talk to her, try and find a way to ask her about her room number. But make sure it's very subtle. Then I want you to call me immediately at that number." I pointed to the business card.

"Yes. I will."

"Let's just hope we're not too late." I gave a tight, forced smile to the other girls who were staring at me in horror. "Very nice meeting you."

Without another word, I turned away, guiding both Jessica and James away from the crowd. "Wow," James exclaimed once they were safely out of earshot. "That was incredible."

"Actually, that was surprisingly easy."

"Are we going to Las Vegas?"

A long, heartfelt sigh escaped me as I put a hand through my hair. Was there anything I wanted to do less than to go knock on doors in Circus Circus? When this guy proved himself to be an idiot, Heather was going to owe me for this one. Hopefully, she would get the revelation before she married him. Whether it was legally binding or not, that experience was bound to mess her up in the head.

I glanced at James, and saw his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. With a deep sigh, I nodded to him. "Yeah, James," I answered quietly. "We're going to Las Vegas."

**1973**

"When I asked when you'd be arriving in Vegas, Samantha told me you were already here." I glanced at Tamika as I followed a half step behind her, up the steps of the rundown apartment complex. "She neglected to mention that you _lived _here."

"Did I?" Samantha asked innocently, hanging on my arm. She was so drunk, she could barely stand up on her own two feet. "Silly me."

I was not drunk - far from it, in fact. I was well aware of the performance that was expected of me tonight and I knew damn well that I couldn't pull it off while intoxicated. But I was surprised at how little Tamika had consumed - especially in comparison to her friend - and how sober she appeared.

I also found it interesting that she'd avoided my gaze for most of the evening. Given the authority and confidence she had radiated when we'd first met, and the way she'd challenged me over the lighter (I still didn't know quite what to think about that), it seemed strange to see her so quiet and unsure as she had been for most of the afternoon and evening. Ten hours, and I still hadn't gotten a sure reading on her. It was a new record.

She didn't talk much, and she didn't particularly enjoy Samantha's company - or mine, for that matter. But she seemed to know how to play the game. She smiled at all the right moments and said just enough to keep from appearing antisocial - but without revealing anything of significance about herself.

She was guarded. That, in and of itself, was nothing new. Ordinarily, I had no trouble working my way around it. If I could get her alone for a few minutes, without Samantha, I was pretty sure I could pin her down and find out why. My initial reading had been wrong; she wasn't the kind of girl that free-spirited Samantha should consider a friend. Much less the kind of friend she'd want to introduce to me.

I had to wonder how on earth they had met.

Tamika led the way down the outdoor aisle, past several doors. The building was set up like a cheap motel - three stories high with peeling white paint and sky blue trim. It was hard to see much in the dark, but it didn't look like the place was in the greatest state of repair.

As Mika reached for her keys, Samantha reached down to the front of my pants, hooking her fingers under my belt. I glanced at her, only mildly amused. "Impatient?" I taunted. I knew she was impatient. She was always impatient when she was drunk. She was also more easily satisfied. Yes, I had ulterior motives to pouring liquor down her throat.

She didn't answer, just pressed in closer, raising her other hand into my hair and pulling me into a deep kiss as she rubbed the front of my jeans firmly. My body responded - it was well conditioned to - but for the moment I remained impassive. I kept one eye on Tamika as she opened the door. She kept it open for the two of us as we stumbled inside.

Inside the apartment, I didn't have a chance to even comment on the decor. Samantha had me against the wall before the door was even closed, pushing my jacket off of my shoulders. I let it fall, and returned her kiss, but continued to watch Tamika as she closed and locked the door behind us, pulling the chain. She sat down in one of the chairs at the dining room table and reached down to unzip her boots.

I grabbed Samantha's shoulders, pushing her back gently and tipping my head down to catch her eyes. "Why don't you go in the bedroom?" I whispered between soft, fleeting kisses. "I'll be there in just a second."

She smiled at the promise. "Okay."

I smiled as I kissed her once more, and steadied her for the first few steps toward the hallway. She was so drunk she couldn't walk straight. I watched her go, then shook my head, ran a hand through my hair, and glanced back at Tamika.

"You okay?" I asked, picking my jacket up off the floor and draping it over the arm of the sofa.

She glanced up at me. "I'm fine." Finished with her boots, she stood up, leaving them next to the chair. "Can I get you anything?"

I studied her carefully. The role of hostess? That was a first. Of course, my work normally took me to cheap motels, not women's apartments. "No, thank you."

She turned and walked into the kitchen, out of view. After a brief hesitation, I followed her. I stopped in the doorway, leaning with one arm up over my head, and watched her. Maybe she just didn't understand what Sam had in mind for tonight - what she was paying me for.

"Can I get _you _anything?" I asked, turning the question back on her.

She laughed quietly, glancing over her shoulder at me as she pulled a coffee mug from the cupboard. "No," she answered with a smile.

She understood. I could see it on her face. But she was completely and totally disinterested. Perhaps mixed with a bit of unease. Was she worried about what was expected of _her_? I studied her curiously. She didn't seem the type to be so self-conscious, but stranger things had happened.

"You seem... uncomfortable," I observed quietly.

Leaving the cup on the counter, she grabbed the teapot off of the stove and filled it with tap water. "Not at all," she assured me.

She meant that. So what was I seeing? Damn, she was hard to read...

"Not just now," I clarified. "I mean all day."

She didn't answer. I remained still, just watching her as she took the pot back to the stove. The gas burner clicked as she ignited it.

"You and Sam don't get along so well?" I guessed.

"Samantha and I are... very different."

I smiled. Finally, I was getting somewhere. "I noticed. But with the way she spoke of you, I hadn't expected you to be so..."

I trailed off as she turned to look at me, pointedly. There was suddenly no safe way to end that sentence. Woah. How the hell had she suddenly put me on the defensive? I left off with a smile and a shrug, careful not to betray my surprise.

She smiled politely back at me. "It's nothing personal, Templeton. I just need a few minutes to wind down, is all." Lie.

"Only a few?"

"Go ahead," she smiled, gesturing towards the hallway Samantha had already disappeared down. "I'll catch up to you." Lie.

"I can wait." Maybe it was time to see how she reacted to being pressed.

"You wait too much longer and she's going to be passed out before you even get there." True, but not my primary concern.

"Oh, I'm not worried about it." I pushed off of the wall and took a few slow steps closer to her. "She won't remember it in the morning, either way."

She turned, putting her back to the counter as I came close. Hands in my pockets, I pushed the boundary of casual space, stepping a little too close just to see how she would respond. She didn't flinch, but she didn't meet me halfway, either. Arms crossed loosely in front of her, she watched me impassively.

I realized very quickly that I wasn't going to get any response out of her, much less one that I'd hoped for. There was something very strange going on here, some awkward dynamic that I wasn't aware of. I needed more time to figure it out, and at the moment I didn't have that kind of time. Samantha was waiting.

I tipped my head down as I pressed closer, almost brushing her nose with mine. "Can I at least kiss you before I go?"

"Are you leaving?"

I could feel her breath on my lips, and she didn't lean back, didn't pull away. She stood her ground with a smile, and a strange, slightly challenging look in her eyes. I dropped my gaze, and my head slightly, and skin touched skin where my nose met her cheek. She didn't flinch.

"I get this strange impression that once I walk into that room -" Looking back up, I searched her eyes for any hint of emotion. But if she felt anything at all, she was extremely good at hiding it behind that fake smile. "- I won't be seeing you again until I come back out."

She laughed quietly. "You might be right about that."

That being the case, the thought of fucking Samantha on her bed was a little more awkward than I'd anticipated. "I can take her somewhere else," I offered.

"Please don't." She held my gaze steadily. "It's complicated."

She meant it. I didn't understand why, but she meant it. Reluctantly, I nodded. "Alright," I whispered. I leaned just a fraction of an inch closer, brushing her nose with mine. "But you never answered my question."

She hesitated for a long moment, then slowly tipped her chin up, meeting my lips with hers. I'd expected hesitation, reservation, maybe even fear. Instead, the kiss was slow and steady. And emotionless. As I finally pulled away from her, I smiled.

"You kiss very... professionally," I breathed against her lips.

"So do you."

I laughed quietly, and took a step back. "We're going to have to talk about that later," I said. "But right now, I think I'd better go tend to Samantha."

"By all means."

Hands still in my pockets - I'd never removed them - I turned and headed back out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom. Maybe, if I was lucky, Sam would already be unconscious.


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

**1973**

"Hey."

Tamika's eyes opened slowly, and she blinked a few times, confused and disoriented.

I smiled. "Good morning."

Still half asleep, she rubbed her eyes as she pushed herself up from the couch. "What time is it?" she asked, looking up at the window and the bright sunlight filtering through.

"Almost 10:30." I sat back as she lowered her feet to the floor. "I have to take Samantha to the airport. Would you like to come?"

"I really shouldn't," she yawned. "I've got -"

"Oh yes, Mika," Samantha declared, emerging from the hallway with her hair still wet from the shower. "You're coming."

I glanced at Sam, then turned my eyes back to the woman on the couch. She seemed both tired and a bit disgusted, but she didn't lash out at Sam for the order. Playing along with the light and carefree atmosphere they had both tried so hard to set the day before, and in a fairly good mood myself after a morning run and shower, I pointed back over my shoulder with one thumb.

"Is she always this pushy?" I smirked.

Coming closer, Samantha gave me a shove. It was almost hard enough to make me lose my balance in the crouched position, but I rose to my feet in time to keep upright. Sam lunged at me again and I grabbed her wrists, pinning them behind her, holding her close. We glared and smiled at each other, nose to nose, a playful challenge that went both ways.

Tamika got up from the sofa and walked past the two of us without a word, disappearing down the hallway. I watched her go out of the corner of my eye, but Sam actually turned her head. She frowned deeply as she watched her go.

"I just don't understand her sometimes."

I released her wrists and took a step back.

"Let me work on her for a few days," I said, sweeping my jacket off of the chair.

"You think you'll get through to her?"

I smiled. It was the only answer I bothered with.

"Well, I hope you're right."

That Sam didn't understand her friend had been made perfectly clear the night before. Even drunk, there had been more conversation than sex. And it had continued this morning. She had a solution, and it was one that amused me. I wasn't at all opposed. Tamika would be an interesting challenge - a break from the monotony. I wanted to know her. If Sam was going to pay me to do what I was already inclined to do in the first place, more power to her.

"She wants something," I said. "It's just not the same thing you want. I'll find out what it is."

Sam grabbed her purse off the floor where she'd dropped it the night before and pulled out a white envelope. She smirked as she handed it to me. "It's all there. Do you want to count it?"

"Should I?" I asked, brow raised.

She laughed quietly.

I pulled her close with my free arm as I took the money. "Pleasure doing business with you," I whispered. "As always."

"Five days," she reminded me. "And don't let her tell you otherwise."

"Should I call you if I have any questions?" I teased.

Again, she laughed. "I don't think that would be entirely appropriate."

"I'll stay with her," I promised. "Five days."

"If that's not long enough -"

"It'll be long enough."

"If it's not, I'll cover your cost." She lowered her eyes briefly before glancing back up at me. "You know I'm good for it."

I nodded, then tipped my head as I studied her curiously. There was one question that hadn't been answered yet. "Am I allowed to ask why?"

"Why what?"

"It may be pocket change for you, but you've still got to be getting something out of it."

"No, you can't ask that." She smiled. "Though I'm sure she'll let you ask her if you play your cards right."

**1986**

While Jessica looked for the keys to her car, after parking the kids' car in the driveway, I took the opportunity to call both BA and Murdock and let them know that I was heading to Nevada. The announcement had been met with a fair amount of curiosity, to be sure, but neither of them had asked for details. That was probably for the best. I didn't need to dwell on all the reasons why it was so unusual for me to be heading there, of all places.

By the time I was finished, she'd finally found her keys - in her purse, right where they belonged. I leaned in the doorway to the kitchen as I watched her silently. If she didn't calm down, she was going to get into an accident on her way out of LA. She was staring at her keys, and the keychain on them with the photograph of Heather and James at nine-years-old, playing baseball. I'd seen that picture a hundred times. I didn't need to look over her shoulder to see it again.

I sighed quietly. Jessica seemed so lost, so afraid. And we didn't even know that there was a reason for it yet. "Will you relax, Jess?" I stepped behind her and put my hands on both of her shoulders, my grip firm in case I startled her. I didn't want her to spin around and trip over her own two feet. "I'm sure she's fine."

She choked on a sarcastic and bitter laugh. "Jesus, Face." She turned and brought her eyes up, clenching the keychain tightly in her hand. "How is Heather taking off without a word fine? Please tell me that."

The bitter response cut off with a stifled sob. I pushed her hair back from her forehead gently - a light and comforting touch. "We know where she is. It's a four hour drive. We can have her back by sunset, Jess."

Her eyes were filling with unshed tears. '"We _might _have her back. Or that pervert may have decided to do whatever the hell he wanted with her! I just..."

She stopped mid-sentence. All the worry, helplessness and frustration was evident in her tone.

I sighed deeply as she stared at me. I wasn't getting through to her and I knew it. "Worrying yourself sick about her is not going to bring her back any faster."

"God damn it, Face, she's my responsibility." She was holding that keychain so tightly, she was probably losing feeling in her hand. "And I blew it. My daughter is going to be the one paying for my mistakes."

I sighed deeply, buried my fingers in her hair, and pulled her head toward me until my lips rested on her forehead. I didn't know what else to do for her, what else to say. Appealing to logic would get me nowhere, and letting her sit here and cry about it would only make things worse, not better.

"She's a big girl, Jess," I offered quietly, against her forehead. I pulled away slightly and looked down at her. "And just because I told her friend that she ran off with a psycho axe murderer doesn't mean that's true."

Her eyes widened, but I smiled.

"Jess, anything he does to her, she will probably enjoy immensely."

There was a blankness in her stare for a moment, as if she couldn't comprehend the words. Then she put her hands on my chest and pushed hard enough to break the hug. "She'll enjoy it?" She gaped. "Do you think that _helps_?"

Oops. "What I meant is that he's not going to hurt her," I corrected. "She'll have a life experience and she'll pay for it later like all adults do. That's her choice. She's not a child anymore."

"She sixteen, Face! That's not an adult! She can't even legally sign a contract!" The tears were starting. "I have sign for her, because I am responsible for her, and I have been since she took her first breath, and I..."

I stared at her as she covered her face with her hand. More than likely, we had very different perspectives on what it meant to be sixteen. "I was in Vietnam before I was old enough to sign a contract, Jess," I reminded her. "She's biologically old enough to have her own child, and to raise it. And in a lot of cultures over a lot of centuries, she already would. You might sign her contracts and control certain aspects of her life, but her body is her own. She's old enough to at least deserve that much respect from you."

"God Face, do you think if she gets pregnant that she's on her own? Do you think I would have no responsibility for my underage daughter and her child?"

"We'll worry about that when it happens. Right now, there's no reason to believe it has."

"Do you think Heather could make the sacrifices necessary to raise a child? Because trust me, Face, it's a lot of fucking sacrifice." She wasn't hearing a word I was saying. "Do you think I would just shrug my shoulders and say it was her choice? Do you really think it works that way?"

I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck uncomfortably. "You know... this is starting to sound more and more like family drama that I should really stay out of. Because I'm no good at it, and I'm not going to try and pretend that I am."

She stared at me, saying nothing through the tears that were now escaping. I dropped my hand back to my side. I didn't have the patience for this kind of hyper-emotionalism.

"Your daughter is in Vegas, Jessica," I said simply. "If you'd like to go get her, and ground her and threaten her and yell at her until you feel better, then you go right ahead and do that. She's at Circus Circus; she won't be that hard to find. But if you want my help, you're going to have to tone down the emotional overload. Because frankly, I don't want to go to Vegas. And I _sure_ as hell don't want to go there to play referee between you and Heather."

She stared. Finally, she was hearing me, and it was as if I'd managed to throw a glass of water in her face. She was staring at me with a shocked, stunned look. There was no comeback, no fight, no anything. Finally, her eyes dropped to her feet.

"I'm sorry, Face," she said softly. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, keeping her head down. "Please. I need your help."

I watched her for a moment, then sighed as I took a step closer and put my arms around her in a full embrace. "If there's anything to worry about, we're going to find out when we get there. But four hours of driving, worrying yourself sick, is not going to help anyone. So please." I pulled away and tipped her chin up, holding her gaze. "I know she's your daughter. But let me handle this one."

She nodded, and returned the embrace as I sighed and let my eyes slip out of focus.

"Besides, I know something about running away from the people who care about you."

**1973**

I watched quietly as Samantha disappeared down the long walkway to the plane, turning once more to blow a kiss over her shoulder. I smiled, and waved, and sighed deeply. "That woman wears me out," I reflected, casting a quick glance at Tamika, who was standing beside me.

"She's good at that," Mika answered quietly.

I studied her for a moment. Her calm demeanor betrayed nothing that she was thinking or feeling. I gave her a moment, made sure Sam was gone, then stood straighter, slipping an arm around her so that I could rest my hand against the small of her back. It wasn't a play on her. It was simply a guide; it felt natural.

"So can I buy you a drink?"

"It's one o'clock in the afternoon," she reminded me, her tone clearly one of disinterest.

"Yeah, but it's tradition."

"Tradition?"

I chuckled, leading her away from the gate. At least I'd piqued her curiosity. It was the first genuine response I'd gotten from her all morning.

"Every time I come to the airport, I have to stop and see a friend who works at the bar here."

She didn't answer. So much for curiosity.

The audience was staring again. This time it had nothing to do with my looks, or her age. This time, it was the color of her skin. Once again, it didn't faze me. I was both surprised and pleased that it didn't seem to bother her, either. She walked confidently beside me, steps measured and sure, all the way through the terminal to the little lounge where the bartender greeted me with a smile.

"Templeton!"

"How are you, Mike?"

Mike's eyes immediately came to rest at the woman at my side, and his smile grew. "And who is this pretty young thing?"

"This is my girlfriend, Tamika," I introduced as she reached across the bar to shake the older man's hand.

"Friend," she corrected with a smile.

Nicely handled. I smiled. "Tamika, this is Mike."

"Nice to meet you. What can I get for you two to drink?"

"Just orange juice, please," Tamika answered.

"Usual for me."

"Coming right up."

I moved to the back corner, where I always sat. Tamika sat beside me, leaning forward on the bar as she waited patiently for her drink. Regarding her out of the corner of her eye, I debated my options for slipping through the walls that she had built up around her. I didn't think I'd be too successful at trying to break them down. They were clearly well-fortified.

"Orange juice," Mike declared with a smile, setting the glass in front of her. Then he turned to me. "And Crown Royal. And here's your water."

"Thanks," I smiled, handing him a ten dollar bill.

I finished the shot in only a second. Tamika was watching me carefully, but she didn't speak. So hard to read. She kept her reactions to a minimum, and half of them were fake or forced. The only thing I knew for sure was that she was trying just as hard to read me as I was to read her.

"So." I turned to look at her with a smile. I was good at subtleties, but at the moment, they seemed a moot point. "How about I take you to lunch? What are you in the mood for?"


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**1973**

Tamika left the door open behind her, allowing me entrance back into the apartment. I followed after only a brief pause, closing the door behind me. Hands in my pockets, I remained at the door, watching as she walked into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea. I still hadn't moved.

"You can sit down," she said, glancing at me quickly.

I stared at her. This cold-shoulder act was a new experience for me. And the devotion she seemed to have to it was impressive. I'd spent the entire day with her, and the furthest I'd gotten was finding out she'd known Sam all her life; they were friends by default. And even that could just as easily be a lie. She was guarded, and I was the enemy. We were going to have to get past that, or it would be a very _long _five dates.

"Why do I get the feeling you would rather I didn't make myself comfortable?" I asked with a smile, not moving.

"I don't know," she replied, grabbing her purse and finding her cigarettes.

I knew she'd be looking for a lighter next, but I stayed by the door. Not moving, I clasped my hands behind me and cleared my throat, lowering my eyes as she lit the cigarette and breathed deeply on it. "Maybe it's because you haven't said two full sentences to me all afternoon." We'd see how she went for the "hurt and rejected" routine.

"I'm sorry." She wasn't sorry. "I'm not feeling very talkative."

So much for hurt and rejected. "I guessed that."

Next plan?

She took another long drag. "Look, you don't have to be here," she said abruptly, reaching for the ashtray with her free hand. "I know she already paid you. Please just take the money and go."

I stared at her for a long moment, caught slightly off guard. She knew I'd been paid. That made things a little more difficult. If the money was an issue for her, I wouldn't get through those walls until I managed to convince her that it was unimportant.

I had several options, and they were all risky. But I was in the mood to gamble a bit. Besides. She was worth the ten thousand dollars even if I lost it all. She was interesting, and very few people around here were.

She didn't look up as I approached the table. Standing across from her, I withdrew the envelope from my jacket pocket, set it on the table, and pushed it toward her. She finally glanced up at me as I left it there, on the table between us.

"It's your money," I said quietly, eyes on her. She stared back. "I haven't done anything for it."

"I don't need it," she snapped back, looking away and raising the cigarette to her lips. Offended. Yes, definitely a gamble.

"I don't either," I answered calmly.

She looked back at me, eyes narrowed in a silent challenge. The aggression was new; she'd done nothing but smile and nod for the past twenty-four hours. I suspected that this was the first real emotion I was getting out of her. And if it was real, it could be played. I knew how to play the game, even if "anger" wasn't one of the emotions I normally dealt with. Just a new dimension to the challenge.

"I don't do this for the money," I finally said, holding her gaze steadily.

She glared at me. "Then why the hell do you do it?"

My tone held no inflection as I answered her. "I don't talk about that. Especially not with somebody who's regarding me as an enemy." Intrigue. Would she take the bait?

She didn't look away, still holding my stare as she took another hit from her cigarette. But no, she didn't rise to it. Damn.

When it was finally clear that she wasn't going to say anything, I continued. "I don't understand you," I said quietly. "And I don't understand your friend, either."

"You mean Samantha."

"Yes. Samantha."

"You're wondering why she'd be willing to pay you so much money for something I don't want."

"The thought did cross my mind, yes." Brutal honesty seemed to be the way to go with her. It was the only thing that had gotten me anywhere.

"How much did she pay you anyways?"

"I don't know."

She laughed, without humor. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"The envelope is still sealed." I gestured to it, trying to direct her attention. "Count it yourself if you want to."

She continued to stare at me, but the hate-filled glare was gone from her eyes. Whether it had to do with the fact that the envelope was still sealed or the fact that I'd found some kind of common ground with her, I wasn't sure.

"You've done business with her before," she snapped. "She must know your hourly rate."

Probably not the common ground, with a statement like that.

"Like I said, count it yourself if you want to."

She took another drag, then leaned forward and snatched the envelope off of the table. Just as fast, she threw it at me - like a weapon, not a friendly toss. "I don't want your goddamn money," she growled at me. "Take it and get out of my house."

I stood still for a moment longer, careful not to let her see just how badly she'd caught me off guard. I'd actually thought we were doing quite well for a moment there. But I hadn't toyed with a woman's anger in a long time, and I knew I was rusty.

I also knew that I couldn't allow my own indignation any place in this conversation. The money didn't really have a damn thing to do with it. I would've been sitting here talking to her if Sam hadn't paid me. And if I hadn't wanted to be here, no amount of money would've bought me. It was an insult to think otherwise. But if she was emotional, I had to be calm. If she was aggressive, I had to be passive. It was the only way to break her. I wouldn't do it here, not now. But if I made my moves just right, I'd get another chance.

I turned and walked to the door, leaving the envelope full of cash on the floor. "Have a good evening, Tamika."

"Take it!" she yelled after me.

As I left the apartment, the last thing I saw was her rising to her feet. I closed the door behind me, heading down the walkway and then down the steps. I wasn't halfway down when the apartment door opened again. "Take it, damn you!"

I didn't turn back.

**1986**

When I'd left Vegas, I never looked back. I had been there once since, but that had been different. I'd been there with the team, on an assignment, and it had been easy to avoid anything that was familiar. In and out in less than twenty-four hours. We hadn't even stayed the night. I remembered wondering if Hannibal had even considered the fact that I didn't want to spend the night, or if it just worked out that way.

James had taken over the radio in the Corvette before we'd even hit the freeway, and was tapping the outside of the door as he moved his head in time with the blaring music. The kid made me smile. Not a care in the world, rocking out in the passenger seat of a really cool car with the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. It was almost enough to make me forget that this wasn't a pleasure drive.

"My baby, she's alright!" he sang loudly. "My baby is clean outta sight! She's some kind of wonderful!"

I glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure Jessica was still behind me. She was too far back for me to see any expression on her face, but I knew what I'd see. She was worried. James didn't seem worried in the least. "Can I get a witneeeeeess?"

"Hey, James?"

I reached over and turned the radio down, but with the wind blowing past us, it was still hard to hear.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of my own smile on the sixteen-year-old's face. God, I wished he wouldn't do that. It was unnerving.

"What do you know about when I was a kid?"

He blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"

I hesitated. "Heather said some things the other night. About where I grew up. I'm wondering where she heard them."

"Oh. That." He shrugged, and diverted his gaze. "I told her not to talk to you about that."

"Why?" Now I was _really _curious. "What did you hear? And where?"

He shrugged. "We did some volunteer work a couple weeks ago. It was a Catholic charity event. And this guy - this priest - came right up to me and asked me if I knew you. He said I looked kind of like you."

Actually, James was a spitting image of me.

"We talked to him for a little while and we found out that you were raised in orphanage run by his church."

"What was his name?"  
>"Father Mackey?"<p>

I nodded slowly. I'd have to thank Father Mackey for complicating my life a little bit more. Of course, the priest wasn't the type to _try _and stir up problems for me. He probably hadn't thought he was doing any harm.

"Anyways, I told Heather not to talk about it. I figured if it was something you wanted us to know, you would've told us yourself. And we really weren't trying to snoop. It just sort of came out in the conversation."

"It's okay," I assured him. It sounded like it really hadn't been his fault. And it wasn't like it was that big of a secret. "I was just wondering."

James was quiet for a moment, studying me. I could feel his eyes on me. "Why _don't _you ever talk about it?"

I shrugged. "Don't have much of a reason to."

"I was just wondering 'cause... like... Mom doesn't know, does she?"

"No."

"Do you not want her to?"

I glanced over at the boy and the concern written on his face. "I'm not _hiding _it. It's just not something I talk about, that's all. Why? What difference does it make?"

James shrugged. "I don't know." He lowered his eyes away again. "I just... I was just wondering."

"It was a long time ago. There's a lot of more recent things that are more interesting conversation."

"Mom said you were on the run from the law."

I laughed at the sudden change of topic. "Well, that's definitely a more interesting conversation."

James looked back up at me. "So are you?"

"The military," I corrected. "Not the law in general."

"What did you do?"

"It's... a long story."

It was the only response I offered. James waited for more, but he didn't get it. Finally, he looked away. Apparently, he wasn't going to press. "I want to join the military."

I raised a brow at him, but didn't speak.

"Mom doesn't want me to. I think she thinks I can't handle it," he said quietly, his voice almost drowned by the wind. "But we're not even in a war right now."

"You can't count on that. We could go to war at any time. And if you're signed up, you're going."

"You think there will be another war?" James asked, his brow still furrowed. "Another war like Vietnam?"

I kept my eyes on the road. "There'll be another war," I said confidently. "But it won't be like Vietnam." I lowered my voice as I finished, not caring whether James heard me or not. "There'll never be another war like Vietnam."

**1973**

Steven Adams was a draft evader in 'Nam. His parents had been killed in a car wreck while he was hiding across the border. I had no personal opinion on his life choices, or the dilemmas they'd caused him. It was enough to say that neither one of us talked about the past. That was part of why we got along.

He'd come back to the States a little over six months ago to find there was nothing really here for him anymore. His get rich quick scheme with the inheritance he'd been left had landed him in Vegas. He blew through a hundred thousand dollars in a few weeks, and developed a habit in the meantime. Now he worked to support it and, when he could, to pay his rent.

Even if I hadn't seen in Vietnam what drugs could do to a person, he would've been sufficient deterrence all on his own. He was a slave, with no ability to say no to anything or anyone who waved a hundred dollar bill in his face. He had no boundaries - nothing he wouldn't do for clients, male or female. And nine times out of ten, he was probably too high to care what they did to him, even if he hid his intoxication well.

"Hey Steve, I got a message that you were trying to get a hold of me." I set the phone on the bed as I flopped down next to it with fine disregard for the springs. "What's up?"

"Yeah, dude, for the whole past week. Where the hell have you been?"

I sighed as I turned onto my back, staring up at the plain white ceiling. "I had a couple of jobs that sort of overlapped. I've been running nonstop since last Thursday."

"Aw, shit." He paused, sniffed, coughed. A line of coke. I waited patiently for him to finish. "I guess that means you ain't looking for work."

I wasn't particularly looking for work. His clients were not my caliber. But that said, they did sometimes provide connections to people who were. "Depends. What have you got?"

"I need a second on Tuesday night."

Tuesday. Was I doing anything Tuesday? "Tuesday is tomorrow," I pointed out.

"It is? Shit, already?"

I kicked my shoes off the foot of the bed and yawned as I tuned onto my stomach. "Who's the client?"

"You don't know her. Her name is Carla."

"First time?"

"No, I've met with her a few times."

"What does she want?"

"Dude, she's hardcore."

I glanced at the clock. It was almost six. If I closed my eyes right now, I was sure I'd sleep right through tomorrow morning and into the afternoon. "I don't do hardcore, Steve," I reminded him. My short list of prohibitions seemed a mile long when compared to his.

"Nah, I don't need you to do anything super freaky."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I just need a stranger, someone she doesn't know."

"To do what?"

"Be interested in her. Want her. Fuck her. Shit, I don't care what you do to her, just be there. I'm sure she don't care either."

Given his typical clientele, he was probably right about that. She'd probably be too high to care.

"Is she expecting me?'

"No."

"So who's footing the bill on this, then?"

"Dude, you'll be helping me out. And I'll owe you one. And a flat rate, hundred dollars."

I sighed. A hundred dollars wasn't even worth the consideration. But the favor he'd owe me was. It was only a matter of time before I had another client for whom I needed a second, and there were very few people I trusted enough to work with them.

"You can be in and out in twenty minutes, Templeton," he pleaded. "Or you can come on with us to dinner. My treat."

I considered it briefly. The money was worthless. The favor was worth something. The potential connections was worth even more. And it wasn't like I had anything better to do. My next client didn't come in for another few days.

"Alright," I finally agreed. "Tell me about Carla."


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**1986**

The Strip looked very different in 1986 than it had back in 1973. But at the same time, it hadn't changed. The same flashy lights, the same pheromone-drenched atmosphere, the same advertisers on the street offering the same business cards for the same sex services to the same tourists. I couldn't make it from the parking lot to the front door of the casino without being offered two of them. They littered the street. Every time I took a step, my foot came to rest on the picture of some naked female with stars on her nipples, next to a phone number for an escort service. I ignored it.

"This is ridiculous." Jessica laughed tensely, under her breath, as she guided James away from one of the men clicking the cards together in his hand.

I smirked. "Never been to Vegas before, Jess?"

"No," she answered firmly. "I haven't."

"Sun's going down," I said. "People are starting to drink. It's the best time to stir up business."

She glared at one of the men, and he looked away, disinterested in her. His eyes locked on me instead. I ignored him.

With two towers and countless rooms, Jessica probably expected me to have to ask around for how to get to room 1601 - the room Heather's friend had called to report she was in. But I knew exactly where I was going. Through the casino and down the aisle of shops to the elevator and then up to the rooms of the Casino Tower. I didn't have to hesitate in the least. This place was still familiar, after all these years. Like second nature...

"Do you know where you're going?" Jessica asked quietly as the elevator doors closed.

"I've been here a few times," I answered comfortably, hands in my pockets. She didn't need to know I'd actually lived here.

Six floors up, I didn't even have to check the numbers on the doors to see which way we should go. I just turned to the left and walked straight down the hall to the end. I'd been on every floor of this hotel more than a few times.

"You want to talk to her?" I asked as I paused at the door to room 1601.

Jessica stared at me. "I... yeah, I probably should."

I smiled. "Should" and "want to" were two very different things. "You mind if I say a few things first?"

She shook her head. "No, not at all."

"Okay. Stand right there for me, please." I directed both Jessica and James to the wall. "Just in case she looks out first."

They were still moving when I knocked on the door. "Heather?"

No response. I knocked again.

"Heather, darling, open the door or I'm coming in anyways." My tone was exceedingly polite, and a bit patronizing. But it fit the situation.

"Go away!"

I straightened. It was an instinctive reaction to the tone. I'd been expecting anger, defiance. I'd been totally prepared for a confrontation that could even get violent. But she sounded like she was crying. So much for threats. A different approach, then.

I leaned my shoulder on the doorframe. "I drove a long way to come to this wedding of yours. The least you can do is open the door."

Silence. After a long moment, the lock turned and the door cracked open. She looked at me through the chain. Her face was streaked with running makeup. She'd definitely been crying. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Like I said," I offered quietly. "Somebody told me you were getting married."

"Well, I'm not!"

Thank God. That made things easier.

"You want to tell me about it?"

"No." Her voice cracked.

"Well, I'd like to hear about it. I did drive an awfully long way."

She glared at me. But her eyes were filling with tears again.

"Where's Morgan?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know. And I don't care."

"Well, I'd like to hear about that too. But I'd rather not stand in the hallway and talk through a chained door."

"Are you here alone?"

I shook my head. "No. And I'm sure your mother and brother would like to hear about it too."

She growled. "Go to hell!"

I caught the door before she could close it, and held it open. She looked up at me, startled but still trying to maintain the glare - even with the tears rolling down her cheeks. It was a mix of emotions that I did not envy her.

"Nobody's here to lecture you, Heather," I said quietly. "We came all this way because we care about you. We just want to help."

Her eyes narrowed in a look that bordered hate. "You're just saying that because I'm not going to marry him."

I smiled. "No, I'm saying it because it's true. We do care about you. Enough to drive all the way out to Las Vegas and drag your ass back to LA - kicking and screaming if that's what it was going to take to keep you from making the biggest mistake of your life."

"I'm not a child you can just throw over your shoulder and take away."

"Well, that's exactly what I would've done. Albeit with a bit more finesse." I was careful to keep the smile in place. "Whether or not you appreciate it right now is pretty irrelevant."

"Who do you think you are," she challenged, glaring at me. "My father?"

"I'm your friend," I answered smoothly. "And I would do the same thing if it was your mother making this kind of a mistake. It's got nothing to do with your age. It's got to do with the kind of guy you ran off with."

She stared at me for a long moment, silent. Then, finally, she pushed on the door. "Move your hand," she said quietly.

I let my hand drop and she closed the door. A second later, I heard the chain slide across, and she pulled the door open for me, turning her back as I stepped inside. There was a chair in the corner of the room, tissues stacked on the table beside it. She'd probably been there for hours, sitting in the dark. I turned on the light as I passed it, and opened the curtains.

As Jessica and James stepped into the room behind me, neither of them spoke. They just closed the door, and remained near it as Heather gathered the tissues and threw them away, then flopped down in the chair.

"So." I started, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Morgan. What happened?"

"I don't know." Heather hid her face with her hand. "He was all for it until we actually got here. And then he all of a sudden just... changed his mind."

"Where is he now?"

"I told you, I don't know. And I don't care."

"So he left you stranded here?" Jessica asked gently, her voice steeped in worry. "Without any way to get home?"

"I haven't even thought about getting home," Heather sighed. "It wasn't the most important thing on my mind."

In the long silence that followed, James took a step forward. "Are you okay, Heather?" he asked sincerely. "I mean, really. Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head, eyes down. "I don't want to talk about it. I just..." She breathed deep. "I just want to go home."

Jessica and I exchanged glances. "Well, we just drove straight through to get here," I said, "and we're not ready to turn around and do it again. So we're going to be spending the night here, at least."

"That's fine." Heather waved me off. "Whatever."

"But I do have another idea." All three sets of eyes looked at me. I looked straight back at Heather. "Why don't you let me take you out?"

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

I shrugged. "I know a nice restaurant nearby. A few places we can go. It'll get your mind off of the jerk."

She stared at me with that same cautious, untrusting look her mother got when she couldn't figure me out. It made me smile. "Come on," I chuckled, "what's it really going to hurt?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"What about your wedding dress?"

"Wedding dress?" Jessica repeated. "Out to dinner in a wedding dress?"

I smiled. "It's Vegas."

"It doesn't matter," Heather cut in. We both turned to look at her. "I don't have one." She lowered her eyes. "We were just going to rent one from the chapel."

That showed how much I knew about Vegas weddings. "Alright, then we'll make a stop first," I said quietly. "We'll get you a dress. And shoes. And then we'll go to dinner. Does that sound like a plan?"

She stared at me with that same "why are you doing this?" look. Then, finally, she nodded. "Alright," she agreed. "I guess so."

**1973**

Steve and I complemented each other well. We both knew it. He was dark - hair, eyes, tone, smile - and looked older than he was. I was the exact opposite. He was broad shouldered and muscular, and people stared at him just as much as they stared at me. He was attractive. Steroids had offset the speed, and god-knows-what offset the cocaine, and he could pass for clean and sober just about any day of the week. Even though he was probably wasted, just about any day of the week.

His presence, if one didn't know him, was overpowering. Intimidating. He used it to his advantage. A woman who wanted to be held down never had to worry that he couldn't take charge. I'd sent a few clients his way before - ones that wanted to play games a little rougher than what I was prepared to engage in. He'd never specifically sent me a client, but we had an understanding - any of his that I wanted, I could take. It wasn't quite as generous as it sounded. Most of them couldn't afford me, and the majority wouldn't want to. But every so often, sparks flew. He was the reason I'd met Samantha...  
>Carla, I'd been warned, was a hardcore masochist. I was glad for these warnings, because I didn't like to be caught off guard. Not that I couldn't roll with the punches, but there was something about watching a woman beaten and tormented that was more likely to make my stomach turn than get me hard. I had no problem with domsub games; I did take issue with torture. Steve and I had been over these boundaries before, and a quick refresher on what I would and wouldn't put up with was all that was needed. If he wanted my help, she would neither bleed nor scream - unless it was in pleasure - in my presence.

Carla was young - twenty-something - with long black hair and a dog collar around her throat. Her dark - almost black - eyes were sunken. She'd done her share of drugs, though she covered it with makeup and a soft, shy smile. She was rail thin, and looked like she hadn't eaten in a month. Not exactly what I would have considered pretty, but who was I to judge?

The dress was nice - low cut and loose enough that it didn't hug her bony hips. At Steve's direction, she lifted it before she sat down, and I watched her openly as she gasped at the cool leather on bare skin. From the way she fidgeted, it may have been more than that, too. The way she bit her lip hinted at pain, and she couldn't sit still. Finally, Steve threatened to put her over his knee in front of all these people if she didn't knock it off. The threat was ludicrous, but effective. She stopped.

I never really understood masochism, or the perverse pleasure in public humiliation. Sure, I understood it as a fetish. But as for what was _really _so appealing about it, the concept just confused me. Almost as confusing was the way that damn near anything could be turned into a form of torture. Dinner itself, at a beautifully decorated five-star restaurant, was miserable (pleasurable?) for the woman. She ate what he fed her, when he fed her - bite by bite. She drank what he gave her, swallowed the pills he gave her, and finally crawled under the table at his order for dessert. She spent the next twenty minutes down there.

Steve and I talked about the weather, current events, whatever casual conversation happened to come up. Our real conversation was without words - unspoken gestures and facial expressions. _"She actually pays you for this?" _I would never understand it.

_ "There are worse things I could be doing for money than getting a blow job."_ He would never understand why I didn't understand it.

I glanced at my watch. _"When is she going to come up for air?"_

He smirked._ "Not anytime soon. She's just getting warmed up."_

I sighed_. "We're going to be here a while, aren't we?"_

"I hear it's supposed to be ninety degrees tomorrow.

When it came right down to it, I couldn't care less what happened under that table, hidden from view by the floor-length tablecloth. Which made my role as the "interested observer" that much more challenging to play. But it was a role, and I was nothing if not an accomplished actor. The entire dinner was, in fact, an exercise in play acting - well rehearsed and improvised at the same time. Steve and I were long lost friends separated by time and distance. And yes, your slave is beautiful. And yes, now that you mentioned it, I would love to fuck her.

This was going to be one of those nights when twenty minutes seemed particularly long.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**1973**

I woke up cramped. Damn, I probably hadn't moved all night. No warm body beside me, but this wasn't my room. It smelled like cigarettes and vodka, and it was so goddamn bright. Where was I? I really hated that disoriented, confused feeling.

Door open. I was awake and alert in a flash, reaching under the pillow for... what? If it wasn't my room, my gun wouldn't be under the pillow. But reflexes and instinct overruled thought.

"Hey, you're awake." A male voice only added to my confusion. "Saves me the trouble of having to get your ass up."

Steve. Memories returned slowly, and I glanced around, blinking to clear my vision. It was a room in the Sands Hotel - I could tell that by the layout. What the hell was I doing here? I massaged my forehead, rubbing away the headache. "Was I drinking last night?"

"No more than usual." Steve tossed my jeans at me. "Why? Hung over?" He smirked at me. Clearly, he found this very amusing.

"Just foggy." My eyes were in focus now, and I set my attention on untangling the pants as I dropped my feet to the floor, off the side of the bed.

Steve chuckled. "She wore you out, huh? Not surprised. You did go _three _rounds with her."

That part, I remembered. The rest of it was coming back very slowly.

"How the hell do you do it, Templeton?"

I stood, and pulled the jeans up over my hips. "Do what?"

"You act like you ain't had a piece of ass in a year. It's... inspiring."

"You don't know my other clients." Three rounds was _nothing _with Sam.

"Hell no. But maybe I should."

I smirked at his wistful tone, and glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "You're high already, aren't you?"

"Huh? Me? No."

Yes. He was. But it wasn't worth arguing with him over.

The memories were returning, and I frowned. "Hey, Steve?"

"Yeah?"

I eyed him carefully. "After I fell asleep, you were still up, right?"

"Yeah. For a little while. Why?"

"Did you _smoke _anything between now and then?"

He stared at me. Clearly, he'd not been expecting that question. I knew the answer before he spoke, and I glared hard at him as I grabbed my shirt off the floor. That explained the fuzziness. I had a fucking contact high.

"Alright, let me make this real clear for you." I pulled the T-shirt over my head, and quickly turned my eyes back on him. "You ever smoke anything with me in the room again and I will sabotage you until you can't get a client anywhere in the state of Nevada. Are we clear?"

He shifted slightly. "Sorry, dude, I didn't think about it."

"Well, think about it next time."

It was all I had to say on the topic. He'd listen. There was enough professional courtesy and mutual respect that if he didn't, I would've been very surprised.

I glanced at the clock as I tucked my shirt into my jeans. Nine a.m. "Where's Carla?"

"I sent her to the spa for a few hours. Figured I'd come see if you wanted to go to breakfast."

Turning to the mirror over the dresser, I raked both hands through my hair a few times. "Am I done here? Or is she expecting to see me again?"

"No, you're done."

On cue, he handed me a folded envelope from his pocket. I didn't check it before slipping it into my own. "Thanks."

"So. Food?"

I smiled as I fastened my belt, then gestured to the door. "After you."

**1986**

Heather smiled as the waiter pulled out her chair for her. In a new dress, new shoes, nails done, and with fresh makeup, her spirits had been lifted considerably. I sat down across from her, glancing once more around the restaurant to get a layout from where I was sitting. Habit made me map the exit routes, though I had no expectation of running into trouble tonight. Nobody knew I was here.

"Can I start you off with something to drink?" It didn't matter that it was almost midnight, the restaurant operated as if it were seven o'clock in the evening.

I looked up and smiled at the waiter, but Heather cut him off before he had a chance to speak. "I'd like a glass of white zinfandel."

She smiled up at the waiter, folding her hands on the table in front of her. I watched her, amused but not about to step in as the waiter eyed her suspiciously. He finally managed a smile. "Of course. I don't suppose you have your ID?"

She chuckled and reached for her purse. "You wouldn't believe how often I get asked. I sometimes think I should just wear it right around my neck. More easily accessible." She pulled a card from her wallet and handed it to the waiter.

He looked it over, then smiled as he handed it back. "Thank you, Ms. Parker. Sorry about that."

"No, it's no problem at all," she chuckled. "Just doing your job."

I was still watching her, but I kept the surprise and amusement carefully hidden under a practiced smile. She slipped the card back into her purse and set it at her feet. "For you, sir?" the waiter asked.

I glanced up at him. "Make it a bottle," he said. "And make it a '74."

"Certainly."

As the waiter turned away, I looked back across the table and gestured a "give it here" that required no words. Heather rolled her eyes as she reached for her purse again, pulled out the ID card, and handed it across the table to me. I studied it for a long moment.

"Alaska, hmm?" I handed it back to her. "You ever been to Alaska?"

"No."

"What are you going to do if you ever meet somebody who knows where that town on there is?"

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "Well, it was smart to choose a state that few people have seen an ID from. But if you ever meet somebody from that area, you'd better be able to hold a conversation about it."

"Well, I guess my cover would just be blown then, wouldn't it?" she smirked.

I chuckled. "No, that's not good enough."

She raised a brow. "What do you mean, not good enough?"

"Giving up." I held my chin with his finger and thumb, a reflective pose. "If you're going to make that work for you, you need to stay one step ahead of the questions. If you impersonate somebody, you'd better know who you're claiming to be. Intimately."

She tipped her head, an amused look on her face. "Spoken like a true pro."

I glanced up as the waiter returned, displaying the wine. I smiled and nodded my approval, then watched the way Heather handled herself in the game. She wouldn't pass for twenty-one even in poor lighting. But she radiated confidence, and she'd had her tools ready. I had to give her credit; it was an impressive performance.

The waiter finished pouring, took our orders, and left quickly. I watched the way she drank. She didn't like the taste of the wine, but she drank it anyways - and with a smile. I chuckled to myself as I took a sip, then set it back down.

"So do you have any other tips for me?" she asked coyly, smirking at me.

"Yeah." I paused for a moment and studied her. "Don't waste your talent on assholes."

She laughed.

"No, I'm serious." I let my fingers rest at the base of my glass. "Did you ever see that boy's apartment?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was your first clue." I glanced away. "He had nothing to offer you. Not on any level. It might sound like a cliché line to say you're better than that, but you really need to rethink how you want to play your game."

"What do you mean?"

I smirked. "If you'd married him, you would never again find yourself in a nice restaurant sipping fine wine and wearing a five hundred dollar dress."

She smiled. There was no shyness, no uncertainty. "It is a very nice dress."

"And you look absolutely beautiful in it."

I raised my wine and she laughed quietly as she lifted hers. The two glasses clinked.

**1973**

Casino buffets were always interesting - especially in the morning. At nine o'clock, they had a combination of tired partiers, still dressed and drunk from the night before, and the men and women who, for whatever reason, decided to get up extra special early and go have breakfast to start their lucky day off right.

The emotional atmosphere ranged from one end of the spectrum to the other - angry, happy, tired, sad, excited, satiated. When I'd first come to Vegas, I had spent hours in these places, just watching how the people acted and interacted. I'd only had a limited time to learn everything about the tourists that the locals knew by heart. And everything about American society that I had missed while I was away.

"So how long is she here for?" I asked, sipping a cup of coffee as I leaned back in the booth. I had my ears tuned in to five different conversations and one eye on the entrance at all times. But Steve wouldn't know that by looking at me. He was as oblivious as ever.

"She's a local," he answered, taking a bite of his eggs. "Her husband is understanding."

I raised a brow. "Understanding or supportive?"

Steve chuckled. "Does it matter?"

"Sure it matters. Where and how she gets the money to pay you is something you ought to be aware of."

A moment of hesitation, and Steve took another slow bite before replying. "He's supportive. I actually met him the first time."

Again, I had to raise a brow. "That must have been... awkward." I'd met a number of client's husbands, and it had never been awkward. But then, I didn't do the kinds of things to their wives that Steve did.

"Not really." He shrugged. "What she likes, he's not into. Loves her to death, though. He's happy to foot the bill if it keeps her happy. So every two months, guy goes out of town on business. Three days. And I get to babysit." He smirked, clearly pleased with his arrangement.

"She's one of your regulars, then."

"Yeah." It was impossible to tell by his tone if this was a client he enjoyed or hated. Just as impossible as it had been the night before.

There was an argument two tables away. "It's more than three hundred miles to LA."

"No, it's not. I'm telling you, it's about two hundred fifty." She was right.

"No. You're wrong." He was drunk. Of course, they were probably both drunk to think that it was worth fighting so viciously over.

"Thanks for doing this, by the way." I dragged my attention back to Steve, and the conversation that I was actually a part of.

"Not a problem."

"She's talked about it for a while. I told her just to let me know ahead of time. But you were making me worried, not getting back with me."

I chuckled quietly. "Business has been slow lately, then all of a sudden I had several clients right in a row."

"Slow?" he repeated. "Really?"

"Yeah."

He laughed. "Shit, I'm juggling to keep up."

"You also have fewer... specifications than I do." I smiled as I sipped the quickly-cooling coffee. "And you take locals."

"You _should_ take locals, Tem."

I shook my head, looking away. "No, thank you."

Steve laughed openly at the firmness of that answer. "I'm telling you, dude, they may not pay quite as much, but they're so much easier to manage. And more reliable."

I shrugged. "I don't find tourists terribly hard to manage. And I've got enough of a cushion underneath me to where if I miss a few weeks due to unreliable clients, it's not the end of the world." Actually, I probably wouldn't even feel it. If I stopped working tomorrow, I could probably live comfortably for the next ten years at least.

"They don't come with all these wild and stereotypical expectations," he continued, ignoring me.

I laughed at that. "And Carla's expectation wasn't wild or stereotypical?" Was he kidding?

"What I mean is that you don't have to make it the experience of a lifetime."

"That's part of the fun of it, though." I grinned. "Part of the challenge."

Steve shook his head, frown firmly in place. "No, dude. I've worked with your tourists. Give me a local any day of the week."

I looked away and set my near-empty cup down, still smiling. "You just have to know how to handle them. They don't want a relationship; they want a fantasy. Which is, incidentally, exactly why I _don't _like your locals."

He stared at me for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. "It's a way different set of rules when you put it that way."

I checked my watch. Time to put an end to this conversation. I'd had enough shop talk for one day, and I needed a shower. The problem with helping out on someone else's gig - I didn't get to set the rules. "I've got to run. Have a couple things to do today." Like shower. And nap. And enjoy a few days off. And figure out what the hell I was supposed to do about Tamika.

"Hey if you want to come over Saturday, there's a few of us gonna hang at my place."

I hesitated as I considered that. I had no desire to socialize with Steve and his friends. But once again, it was all about the connections. "I'll let you know," I promised.

"Groovy." Steve set his fork down and reached across the table to shake hands as I stood. "Thanks again, Templeton."

"No problem."

"I owe you one."

Yes, he did.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**1986**

"Thank you, Face."

I paused at the door to Heather's room, leaning on the frame. "You're sure this asshole isn't going to come back?" I'd heard her the first five times, but I had to check just once more.

She shrugged. "Even if he did, he left his key."

"If he does, you call. I'm right next door. Or call your mom."

She nodded. "I will."

"You're sure you don't want a different room?"

A laugh, and she lowered her head as she shook it. "Really, Face, I'll be just fine."

"Okay," I finally relented. I reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. "Sleep well, alright?"

She nodded, and looked up at me as I cupped my hand around the side of her head. God, she was so young. It had been a long time since I'd taken someone so young out. Had I _ever_? Granted, this was far from a "date" in the strictest sense. But the cards had all been played very much the same. I wasn't attracted to her in any sense of the word; she was just a kid. Still, it seemed unnatural not to kiss her.

I drew her closer and kissed her forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."

She nodded, and kissed my cheek before turning and pushing the door open. I smiled at her as she closed the door behind her, then sighed as I walked to the next door over. My key slid easily into the lock, and I pushed the door open silently. The TV was on, and the light was off. James was already asleep, a half-eaten box of pizza on the bed with him.

I smiled, and walked to the window, pulling the curtains aside. I stared for a moment out at the Strip and the memories that went with it. It looked different. It felt the same. With a sigh, I stepped back. Setting the pizza box on the dresser, I turned off the TV on my way back to the door.

I wasn't sure if Jessica was still awake. My knock on her door was light, just in case. I didn't want to wake her. But a moment later, she answered. "You're back."

She was drunk.

"I'm back," I affirmed with a nod.

She grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room. Warning bells immediately went off in my mind, but I said nothing as she closed the door behind me and walked to the bed, flopping down on the edge of it. She grabbed the remote and muted the TV, then grabbed the bottle of schnapps off of the bedside table, pouring into a plastic cup. The bottle was nearly empty.

"How'd it go?" she asked. She held up the bottle. "Want a drink?"

"No, I'm fine," I said, smiling politely as I held up a hand.

"She behave herself?"

I chuckled as I sat down on the other bed, facing her. "She's sixteen, Jess. Not six."

"I know. She acts like it sometimes." She threw another double shot back and leaned forward as she took a moment to let the taste fade. "So how much do I owe you?"

"Owe me?" I asked, confused.

"For her."

I chuckled, and shook his head. "Nah, don't worry about it. My pleasure."

"I can pay you," she said firmly. "She's my responsibility."

"Like I said, it was my pleasure."

Jessica frowned, and poured again. This time, she filled the cup. I took the bottle from her hand as she finished, and reached for the cap. "You're going to have one hell of a hangover if you keep that up."

"I don't care."

She tipped the cup and drank the liquor like it was water, several full gulps. I took the opportunity to fasten the cap on the bottle and slip it underneath the mattress. As she tipped her head down again, she stared at me, confused. "Where did you put it?"

"Put what?" I asked innocently.

"The bottle."

"It was empty. I threw it away."

She stared. "It was empty?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wow." She frowned. "I thought there was still some left."

"Nope."

I stood up and crossed the few steps to her suitcase. "Do you have clothes to sleep in?" I asked as I set it on the dresser and opened it.

"I could've sworn there was still some left..."

I found the clothes I assumed she'd intended to sleep in: an oversized T-shirt and a pair of boxers. "Are these pajamas?"

She was rummaging. "Where's the bottle? I don't see it in the garbage here."

I crossed to her, grabbed her arm, and turned her to face me. "Jessica, take these clothes," I instructed patiently, "go into the bathroom, and get changed. Do you understand?"

"Why?"

"Because it's two o'clock in the morning. You need to get some sleep."

"Sleep?"

"Yeah. It's what you do at night, when you're tired." I escorted her to the bathroom. "And I know for a fact that after drinking that much liquor, you're tired. So get changed."

I guided her gently inside, and closed the door behind her. Then, with a sigh, I walked to the air conditioning unit and turned it off. It was too damn cold in here. The desert was warm during the day, even in the spring, but it was freezing at night.

Several minutes later, she still hadn't emerged from the bathroom. I knocked quietly on the door. "Jess? Are you okay in there?" It was well within the realm of possibility that she'd passed out.

No answer. I tried the handle and found it unlocked. "Jessica?"

I saw her clothes - the ones she was supposed to be putting on, not the ones she should've taken off - on the counter. I didn't see her. I found her asleep in the bathtub, fully dressed and on the other side of the pulled curtain, with the water trickling into the tub. It had gathered to about a half inch underneath her. I chuckled to myself as I crouched next to her.

"Hey. Jess." I shook her shoulder.

She jumped, startled awake. "Huh? What?"

"Don't you think the bed might be more comfortable?"

"Huh? But you told me to take a bath."

I stood, and offered both hands down to her. "Come here."

She had to fumble a bit to find my hands. Then I pulled her to her feet. She fell into me, and I lifted her out of the bathtub. "Stand here," I ordered, propping her up against the wall. "Put your arms up."

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to help you get changed. You're all wet."

"Why am I wet?"

"Well," I whisked her shirt up over her head, "that's what happens when you try to take a bath with your clothes on."

"I don't want to take a bath."

"You're not going to take a bath. You're going to go to bed."

"Bed sounds good. I'm tired."

Undressing women was an art I had perfected years ago. Helping her to put clothes back _on _was a new experience - particularly since she kept trying to help in all the wrong ways. It would've been easier if she'd been unconscious. Finally dressed in the T-shirt and shorts, she stumbled out into the room and toward the bed. She stood behind me as I turned down the sheets and helped guide her under them.

"You're nice to me," she whispered with a smile.

"What are friends for?"

As I pulled the blanket up around her, she reached up and grabbed onto my shoulder. "Sleep with me."

I'd been wondering if that would come up. I hadn't expected her to be quite so blunt about it. I smiled as I shook my head. "Not a chance, Jess."

"Why?"

"Because you're drunk." I touched her lips with my finger, but kissed her forehead. "And I don't do that."

"I didn't say I wanted you to have sex with me," she whispered. I stared down at her as I pulled away. She grabbed my hand. "I just want you to sleep here with me." A moment of lucidity - not nearly enough to convince me that she knew what she was saying - and she squeezed my fingers. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

Those words rang with me, more than she could've possibly known. More sympathetic to her request, I sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'll stay until you fall asleep," I offered. "How's that?"

"Please stay." She sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "I just want you to hold me."

I studied her for a long moment. She was drunk off her ass, and I knew it. She'd probably be apologizing profusely for this in the morning. But she also seemed very vulnerable, and that was a frightening place to be, alone in the dark. The request seemed harmless as long as there was a safe barrier between us, and as long as I could convince her in the morning that it was no big deal. That shouldn't be too hard. As far as I was concerned, it really wasn't.

I released her hand and leaned down to take off my shoes, then lay down beside her on top of the blankets. Almost immediately, she curled up next to me, tucking her head under my chin. I smiled faintly as I wrapped a protective arm around her, pulling her close.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"Anytime."

"Please be here when I wake up. Please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone in the dark."

I sighed. "Go to sleep, Jess."

"Thank you."

It was the last thing she said before she breathed deep and nuzzled against me, then drifted off to sleep.

**1973**

Staring up at the ceiling wasn't helping me to sleep. Not that I particularly cared to sleep here anyways. Something about this place - the women sprawled across me, the smell of booze and sex and vomit - just made me feel dirty. Maybe it was time to get up and go home. But for that, I was going to need to sober up a bit.

Why was there never coffee when I needed it? Oh, that's right. Because that would mean that at some point, I would've had to get up and get all the way to the kitchen in order to make it. I frowned as I stared at the coffee maker without really comprehending what I was seeing. Cold, burnt, and black as coal - left in the bottom of the pot from this morning. It would have to work. I didn't have the patience to wait for brewing and perking and filtering.

There was a blonde on the sofa. Two brunettes in the bed. Steve, passed out on the floor with a shot glass still in his hand. The clock read four. Shit, how was I going to get that wine stain out of the carpet from the glass I'd spilled last night? I laughed at that. I wasn't. Whatever happened to this suite was not my problem in the least. It wasn't mine.

Damn, I needed to sober up.

Two scoops of coffee into the filter. Guess I was going to make some. Turn it on. Shit. Forgot to put water in it. I put a hand over my face, rubbing my forehead. This was going to be one hell of a trip home. I didn't have to drive; all I had to do was call a cab. And choke back the nausea on the trip. And find my room. Oh, and before any of that, I had to find my clothes. That could be a trick in and of itself.

Recreation, Steve called it. This, he'd said while setting up lines of coke on the coffee table. I had no interest in the drugs. I'd known from the moment I'd arrived that I would've done better off staying "home" and catching up on my sleep. I was going to need it. I had a new client flying in this evening.

Ugh. I couldn't think about that yet. It was sick and twisted to try and think about work while drunk. I needed a cup of coffee and at least one cigarette. Cigarettes - where were they? Couldn't be in my pockets; I wasn't wearing any pants. Should probably take care of that before I went out on the balcony for that much needed cigarette. Wait a minute, I didn't smoke. Damn it. Where were Steve's cigarettes?

Man, I had a headache.

Priorities set by necessity, I found my jeans from the night before. How nice - they were tangled around the legs of a redhead on the bathroom floor. Maybe she'd been trying to use them as a blanket. Would make sense. That tile floor was damn cold. And she was lying on it naked.

Soft moan from the bed. It sounded almost like my name. Cassandra - or whatever the hell her name was - snuggled into the pillow, then reached out and pulled closer to the warm body of the other woman. It probably didn't make a damn bit of difference to her who she was cuddling with, just as long as there was a steady heartbeat, warm hands, and someone to tell her what felt good. Sometimes I was amazed by just how pathetic people could be.

That first swig of coffee was like drinking kerosene - and on an empty stomach. I didn't give my body a chance to voice its opinion on the matter. Cigarette, lighter, and seconds later, the follow up assault. The nausea hit full force, then faded by the time I'd pulled the sliding glass door open. Damn, that cigarette tasted good. How long had it been since I'd had a cigarette? I breathed in deep, and let it out slow. Way too long. I missed it. Maybe I should try those cigars...

Random thoughts. But then, I was drunk. At least as drunk as I ever got. The headache would go away in a few hours. Faster if I got this coffee down quick. I looked down at the mug as I swirled it. The film it left on the inside of the white mug was so dark it was almost green. Just like the sludge I used to drink in... that place I knew nothing about because I was never there. Fuck. _Not _a good train of thought to pursue.

I took another sip and glanced over my shoulder as one of the women - where had she been hiding? She was none of the four I'd located - stumbled around the coffee table and into the kitchen in search of water. She only made it as far as the trash can before she bent over and dry heaved. Nice. That had to be tied with the images of the well-used Bangkok whores for the most attractive sight I'd ever seen.

I sighed as I turned away, leaning on the railing, staring out at the city. In the not-too-far distance, I could see the strip, bright and lit up the way it was 24 hours a day. Casinos and booze and sex, on call any time, day or night. Wonder what those tourists would think if they saw what I saw this morning.

Deep drag, let it out slow. Another sip of thick, burnt coffee to wash the taste down. I didn't belong here. I hadn't the foggiest idea where I belonged, but it sure as hell wasn't here. Bent to the will of a hundred different women, ready for them at the drop of a hat. Hell, I could flip those tables around in an instant if I wanted to, and I knew it. And I wouldn't need money to do it. One thing was for damn sure. When I left this place, I would never pay a prostitute again.

Women fell in love with me. I never really understood why. In some sense, it was what I'd always wanted them to do, back when I was young, awkward, still learning. But that phase had been brief in my life. And with the exception of a very select few, I'd never lacked the ability to attract any woman. Hell, "attract" didn't cover it. They fell head over heels for me. I never understood why. I never really cared to. But I knew enough about the way it worked - the way they clamored to wind themselves around my finger - that I was completely sure that I would be able to play this game when I walked away from Las Vegas. When money was no longer any issue at all.

Another drag, another sip of ice cold coffee. I should go see Mika. It had been several days now, and I hadn't heard from her. Not surprising. I actually needed to make the effort if I was going to get anywhere with her. She certainly didn't feel like she needed me. That much was evident from word one. She'd been angry the last time I'd seen her. Was she still? Would she know how to get a hold of me if she wasn't? Maybe giving her space wasn't the best option. But hell, what were my other options? Run after her until she finally gave in? I'd never played that game in my life, and I wasn't about to start now. If she wasn't interested, she wasn't interested. Still, I really ought to give her at least one more shot.

I sighed as I considered that, and looked out over the dark city. The sun would start coming up in about an hour. I'd have to go see her in the next few days, and I knew it. But first I had to deal with my new and unfamiliar client. Then, perhaps, I'd be ready for another challenge.

And before I could even think about that, I needed to get back to the Strip.

**RATING WILL INCREASE NEXT CHAPTER! If you can't find this story next time, make sure you change the ratings display because it defaults to only showing K-T ratings. **


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**1973**

What I felt and what I knew were two very separate things. Almost as separate as what I knew and what I did. Fantasies - even the most obscene - were not without legitimacy. Understanding the legitimacy was key to controlling the fantasy. However it looked, however it felt, as long as I knew what she was thinking, I controlled her and not the other way around.

I had boundaries. There were things I would never do - not for love nor money. I had clients who occasionally pushed the boundaries. But more often than not, they were up front about what they wanted. Women paid me to listen, non-judgmentally, to treat them like they were normal and provide them a safe place to act out their fantasies. Breaking the rules meant running the risk that I would break mine. It meant almost-certain rejection. Most of them didn't want to take that kind of risk.

Helen had been very up-front with what she wanted. It wasn't my typical, run of the mill sex scene, but it wasn't anything foreign to me. I could play either side of most any scenario, but there were a few that came up less frequently than others. It had taken further explanation - more detail - before I was willing to meet with her. I had wanted to know exactly what I was getting into. Her explanation was very matter-of-fact, and nothing that concerned me too greatly. If this went at all like she had described, she would never even touch me.

From her picture, I could tell a lot. She fit my typical clientele - a well kept, middle-aged business woman in a dark business suit. Her skirt was past her knees, but slit on the side to mid thigh. The blouse and jacket were unbuttoned far enough to show a teasing hint of cleavage - which she was proud of. She liked to turn heads, liked to make men of all ages do a double take.

I was familiar with that feeling. I had no doubt she would be easy - familiar - to read.

From our brief phone conversation, I'd been able to tell even more about her. She hadn't wanted me to pick her up from the airport. In fact, she'd made it perfectly clear that she only wanted to see me for one hour on one evening. For this, she would pay my usual fee, for the full night. Arrangements like that tended to make me a little wary. I was a lot of things, but cheap wasn't one of them. And one hour hardly seemed worth it. But she'd assured me that she had plenty of money to blow, and who was I to argue?

She also had a husband who would be blowing his share of it in the casino downstairs. Discretion was key.

She'd done this before. She hadn't said as much, but she knew the arrangement too well for me to think otherwise. She wanted professionalism; I came recommended. She wanted anonymity; that was my specialty. She wanted to set up everything herself; I needed only a time and a place. I'd smiled at the care she took to clarify that I was not to wait for her inside of the hotel lobby or in the street. She had nothing to worry about. I wasn't new at this. Besides, I would've just been one more patron in the casino.

It hadn't been hard to find where she was staying. The desk clerks all knew me. As it turned out, she was staying in Dunes, which was the second hotel I checked. I'd taken the room beside hers and returned to Circus to wait for her call. When it came, and she finalized our plans, I gave her the new number and switched hotels for the third time that week. They were all home to me, and none of them were. The rooms were all the same, and they were all familiar.

Her phone call was fifteen minutes late. That was calculated, I was pretty sure. I didn't take her for the type to be running late. It was just part of her game. She probably envisioned that I was pacing nervously in my room. It was all part of her fantasy. She didn't want a pro, she wanted a boy. And she wanted one with his share of insecurities about sex. She'd responded like a moth to the flame at my hesitation to take her as a client. Hesitation, uncertainty... maybe even fear. That was what she was looking for. And she was paying me more than enough to give her that.

I waited exactly ten minutes before I shut off the TV and headed for the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, ran a comb through my hair one last time, straightened my tie, and grabbed my suit jacket on my way out the door. She'd been very specific about how she wanted me dressed. But luckily, her request had been easy to accommodate.

I waited until I'd knocked on her door to take the time to put the jacket on. She'd made me wait for the call, and I had a pretty good feeling that she'd make me wait for her to answer the door, too.

She did.

When the door finally opened, a full three minutes later, it was only a crack. And she didn't look out at me. "Wait until I call you."

I slid my hands into my pockets, glancing up and down the hall and trying to tap into the nervous energy she would be expecting from me. It was a role I was not accustomed to playing, and it was going to take some effort. I rocked back on my heels, rolling my shoulders. Appear nervous. Eventually, I would feel it. She was making me wait, because she was in complete control. What else would her control entail? I fidgeted, pulling my hands from my pockets and wringing them one over the other. What would she have me do? Whatever it was, I would have to do it...

Slowly, the reassuring fact that I knew exactly what she had planned was fading into the back of my mind.

"Come in." Her loud, firm voice came through the door with ringing authority. "And make sure you close the door behind you."  
>I had to stop myself just inside the door to take some of the confidence out of my step. Young. Insecure. She had specifically asked how old I was. It mattered to her. She wanted a child. And like a child reporting to the principal's office, I kept my eyes down as I turned to shut the door behind me and then back again, never looking directly at her.<p>

Helen Barnes, age 38. Her presence was indeed intimidating. There was something inherent about her, something that screamed control. Brown hair, brown eyes, not unattractive but not gorgeous. Successful professional - which as it turned out meant she was a bank teller. She had a wealthy husband with the sexual appetite of a brick wall and the ritualized chore of intercourse had not yet produced children. She also probably had a list of fantasies a half mile long. This one may be at the top, but I wouldn't be at all surprised to find that there were many more. If I played this right, she'd be a regular. Of course, if _she_ played it right, I'd be stunned. I hadn't met a client yet who could play this part right.

Her eyes raked me as I paused just inside the door, and I watched her out of the corner of my eye. A gesture to the middle of the room, and I walked to the point she specified with my head down, casting quiet, wary glances at her. Nervous. Anxious. What would she make me do?

I didn't speak. She'd let me know when she wanted me to speak. I had no say in this, no thoughts of my own. It was my job to follow orders, nothing more.

I could feel her eyes running up and down my body, appraising me. I was fighting a war against the instinctive confidence that would've led to subtle preening any other time. What if she _didn't _like what she saw? What if I wasn't good enough? Nervous. Worried.

"Turn around."

Silently, I did as she instructed.

"You'll do," she finally concluded.

That wasn't an invitation to speak, and I knew it. Head still lowered, I ran my tongue over my teeth. Anxiety. Fidgeting. The condescending tone was far from truly insulting. I knew damn well I was everything she was looking for. Young enough to act like a boy, old enough to look like a man. Or maybe it was the other way around. I still wasn't entirely sure whether it was the looks or the inexperience she was after when she'd asked about my age.

"I want you to undress for me," she said simply. "Take everything off except your underwear and return to where you're standing now. You can lay your clothes over that chair," she pointed, "neatly. Don't leave it untidy. I don't like a mess."

I kept my smile entirely to myself. If she didn't like a mess, she had the wrong kind of fantasy.

I slipped my jacket off, and folded it once before draping it over the chair. I stripped slowly, but not sensually. She wasn't interested in a striptease. Once my clothes had been placed neatly on the chair, I returned to my position in the center of the room.

"Don't move."

I hadn't been planning on it.

She stood from her chair and walked near me, looking me over again from head to toe. I shut my eyes, and concentrated on the feel of her gaze on me. Anxious. Self-conscious. I could smell her. Hairspray and cigarette smoke, and a strong, sexy perfume. That perfume was unique. I'd never encountered it before.

"Open your eyes. I didn't tell you you could close them."

I obeyed without question, and my eyes were immediately drawn to her cleavage as she passed close enough to let her warm breath fall on my neck. Although this scenario was far from what I would've considered personally, intimately exciting, my body was reacting to her proximity. I could feel the blood stirring in my groin, and I instinctively wanted to touch her as she walked around me.

I kept my hands at my sides. But the by the third time she circled, my fingers were itching to feel her soft skin. She wanted me hard. I could tell that by the way her eyes lingered at the front of my boxers whenever she circled in front of me. I broke the well-practiced, military borne "stare at nothing" and glanced at her.

"Eyes front!"

I snapped to full attention on instinct alone, and quickly corrected - straightening my hands at my sides and fidgeting slightly. That she wanted me on alert did not mean that she wanted a soldier. Hell, I wasn't even supposed to know how to hold that stance. I swallowed hard, feeling the first flicker of real anxiety. She'd actually caught me off guard. I couldn't let that happen again.

Finally, she walked back to her chair and settled into it wordlessly. I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she slipped her feet out of her high heels and crossed her legs, leaving one shoe dangling from her toes in the air. The slit of her skirt was open just enough to show the barest hint of a stocking top, but certainly no bare skin. It was calculated, I was sure. Everything about her seemed carefully calculated.

"Alright, let's get started," she said matter-of-factly. "Drop those shorts and show me what you've got."

**1986**

Flash.

I was awake, and bolt upright, before I knew what had woken me. Hotel room. Familiar scent. It hit me at once and I shut my eyes against it. Dark. It was the middle of the night. Jessica beside me. Silence. Casino. Circus. I was in Vegas, and I was awake at 3:00 in the morning.

I lay back down slowly and stared up at the ceiling quietly. The memory of the nightmare was returning slowly. The panic that had every muscle tense, the shame that made me wish I was alone in this bed. There was a part of me that couldn't help but scoff at that. How was there any such thing as "shame" in my vocabulary? All of the things that I'd done, the things that I'd seen, and _been_...

Images I'd not seen in years were on that ceiling, and on the backs of my eyes. A bond-haired boy who wouldn't have believed he was vulnerable, standing straight, shoulders back. He could feel her eyes on him, raking him. It never would've made him uncomfortable to be scrutinized, except she was different. She made _him _different, somehow.

_"What's the matter? You can't get it up?"_

_ He needed something to focus on. Standing there naked and silent in front of her repeating "nervous anxiety" as a silent mantra was not going to make him hard._

_ "Do what you do when you're all alone," she ordered. "Make it stand up straight for me."_

I shuddered at the memory, and pushed it aside forcefully as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I was on my feet in one swift movement. I needed to get out of this room. It was too familiar - too obscene and uncomfortable.

Dressed and combed and washed, I slipped out of the room without waking Jess. I briefly contemplated the doors on either side of my room - James and Heather were alone in those rooms. But there was really nothing to worry about. No danger here. Hell, I didn't even have my gun with me - though that was actually because it would do me more potential harm than good on the casino floor.

I took the stairs down. Slowly. No reason to rush; I had no real destination. There was no place I could go in a ten mile radius to get away from the feel of this place. It made my skin crawl. And it brought memories I didn't want to think about crashing back into my dreams.

_"Stop!"_

_ Her command almost made the boy jump in surprise, and his hand was automatically at his side again. Shit, where had that come from? She'd caught him off guard again. This wasn't going so well. He was going to have to pay closer attention._

_ "Slowly."_

_ Very slowly, hesitantly, he moved his hand back into place, slowly stroking up and down._

_ "Very good."_

I growled angrily at my own thoughts as I pushed my way through the door and out into the casino. It needed to _stop_. That memory absolutely needed to stop. I hadn't thought about it in over a decade, and I sure as hell didn't want to think about it now. But it was still playing out in my head, like it or not. That boy was me. And there was no denying that fact as the scents and sounds of the casino hit me, bringing the entire experience crashing back into me.

_"Oh, that's nice. Very nice. You would like me doing that for you, wouldn't you?"_

_ I nodded._

_ "Answer me when I ask you a question!"_

_ "Yes," I whispered. Wish a sort of detached awareness, I realized it was the first word I'd spoken since I had arrived._

_ "Good boy."_

_ Her condescending tone filled me with an odd mixture of emotions. It blurred the lines between characters I'd played and people I'd once been. And all of them somehow seemed to be a part of me in this moment. Each and every one of them was a part of the confusion in my head._

_ "Keep doing that for me," she ordered. "Think of how you're naked before me. In my power."_

_ It was hard not to think of that. I could feel her eyes on me as my hand stroked up and down. Nervous. Self-conscious. I didn't have to convince myself anymore. The naked, exposed feeling was forefront in my mind. The only thing I was more aware of was the dirty, shameful feeling. Teachers and priests, parental figures with strict codes of conduct. What would they say if they could see me now? Sin on display, like a piece of art._

_ "Up and down. Yes, that's nice. Do exactly as I say." _

"Can I get a glass of scotch, please?"

"Sure thing."

I sat down at the bar and pushed my hands through my hair, holding my head as I waited for the bartender to bring the liquor back.

"Rough night?"

I glanced up, and caught the gaze of a twenty-something woman sipping a fruity-looking drink. I smiled at her out of habit. "Sort of, yeah."

She nodded and sipped her drink. "Friend I came with is a bit of a gambler. She blew through about three thousand dollars today and cried herself to sleep. Makes me glad I only like penny slots."

I caught the cues, and smiled politely as I ignored them. Here with a female friend and not a boyfriend, not out for money, and bored for the rest of the night. The bartender brought the drink back, and I tossed a ten dollar bill on the bartop to pay for it. "Thanks."

"So where are you from?"

She thought I'd missed the cues. I had two options: play along or make it blatantly obvious that I wasn't interested by being rude.

"Chicago." Seemed like as good a place as any. I glanced at her. "You?"

"Vermont."

I let the conversation stall out as I sipped my drink. I wanted a cigarette. I wanted out of this place. I downed the liquor much faster than I'd intended, and raised the glass to the bartender again.

_"Tell me you love that."_

_ I didn't love it. I wanted it to stop. But somewhere along the line, between the mind games I'd played with myself just to adopt this role and the guilt and shame of a good Catholic boy's upbringing ringing in my ears, I'd completely lost all ability to _make _it stop. And my voice echoed hers without thought. _

_ "I love that."_

_ "Tell me you want to come for me."_

_ Oh, God, that was the one thing I _didn't _want to do. "I want to come for you."_

_ "Louder!"_

_ I took a breath. My chest was tight. "I want to come for you!"_

_ "Stop!"_

"So are you here alone?"

I blinked at the words that caught me off guard, and glanced back at the woman sitting beside me, brow raised, expecting an answer. It took me a moment to really comprehend a question. "Alone? No, uh..." Shit, this was where it got complicated. "With a friend."

She was waiting for more, waiting to see if I'd return the cues.

I sighed and sipped my drink. "Her daughter ran off with a guy and ended up here in Vegas," I explained dismissively. "I had to come... assist in that whole mess."

"I see." She wasn't quite sure what to do with that.

And the silence gave me more time to think.

_"Why should I let you continue?"_

_ I was torn. Part of me wanted this to stop. Part of me knew that it couldn't. I was past the point of want; I needed release. Standing still and straight, I could feel my erection twitching in time with my heartbeat. It took every ounce of self control I had not to finish those last few strokes._

_ I didn't know what to feel. The guilt and shame were there, and they wouldn't go away. I'd had plenty of practice as a thirteen-year-old boy in how to ignore them. Lust-crazed for orgasm and desperate to feel. I felt like I was thirteen again, and that was a terrifying feeling in and of itself. It was a feeling I was lost in, but the desire and confusion were greater than the fear. _

_ "Come on, I asked you a question. Why should I let you continue?"_

_ "Because I want to come?" I could hear the question in my own voice. The uncertainty, the way it almost cracked. I _sounded _like I was thirteen_.

_ "But that's what you want, isn't it? I thought I told you this is about what I want."_

_ I swallowed. What was I supposed to say to that?_

_ "It's just good luck that you're a pathetic male with a fetish for jerking off in front of women, isn't it?"_

"So are you and your friend... close?"

I dropped my head, hearing the question only so much as I knew she wasn't letting it go. This wasn't helping. I needed more than this. I needed a distraction. I finished the last of my second glass and turned to look at her fully. "Do you want to get out of here?"

She smiled.

We barely made it to her room. Shoes, clothes, and undergarments were left in a trail from the door to the bed, and we fell naked on top of the bedspread. Condom, kisses, pressure and warmth. I groaned as I slid into her safe heat, felt her tight walls welcome me. And still in the back of my mind, those memories were echoing.

_"Tell me what you are."_

_ "I'm a man with a fetish for jerking off in front of women."_

_ "You missed something."_

_ Shit, what were her exact words? "I'm a pathetic male with a fetish for jerking off in front of women."_

_ A smile ran across her face as she enjoyed my discomfort. "You may take it again. Slowly, like before."_

"Slow down," the woman beneath me whispered. I realized suddenly that she was watching me. "Please..."

I dropped my head, kissing the side of her neck softly. "I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind."

"It's okay," she reassured quietly, sliding her fingers through my hair. "Just try... deeper strokes."

She thought I was inexperienced. In fact, she couldn't have been more wrong. But it would've been senseless to point that out. Taking in a slow, deep breath, I focused my thoughts entirely on her - the soft feel of her body, the warmth of her breath, the delicate caress of her fingers. She gave a deep moan as I found those special places inside of her that made everything feel so good.

"Right there..."

I didn't know her name - not that I would have used it anyway - and I didn't know a damn thing about her except that she was from Vermont. But somehow, right now, she was all that mattered in the world to me. Chest tight, breathing labored, closer and closer to that edge of release. I heard her cry out, and shut my eyes as I felt the wave crest. No thought, no emotion, just ecstasy. I heard her moan again as I let go, thrusting into her. For just a moment, all I felt was pleasure. Pure, blissful, thoughtless pleasure.

And finally, the memories were silenced.

**1973**

Still trying to catch my breath, hand still closed around the erection that was gradually subsiding, my thoughts were a mess of confusion. I could feel the hot fluids on my hand, the weakness in my knees as they threatened to give out. I shut my eyes, blocking out the sight of her, the humiliation, the shame. All of those instinctive reactions, so long and so far removed but so ingrained they would never be completely gone.

"That's a good boy." Her voice was condescending and wicked. "Or rather, a very, _very _naughty one."

I shuddered, trying to sort through the emotions in the midst of what should have been a post orgasmic afterglow. Instead, it somehow felt like my own private hell.

I'd long ago accepted the fact that the church and I were just going to have to agree to disagree on a lot of things - my current employment arrangement being only one of them. Hell, I'd spent a hell of a lot of time in a confessional booth for a lot less than this. It was wrong; I knew that. Sexual purity, as described by my father figures, was something I was never going to come close to attaining, and I wasn't really going to try.

But this, right here and right now, was so blatantly and confrontationally wrong, it was sickening. I could neither ignore it, nor justify it. I didn't bother to try. But accepting the reality of what I'd just done filled me with a barrage of emotions I couldn't bear to face. Lectures and careful explanations were ringing in my head, echoes of pride in success and shame in failure. "I will never to it again," and, "At least I didn't commit _that _sin."

At this point, I wondered if there was any sin I hadn't committed. Or any that I wouldn't do again.

"God, you're a horny fucker. I love it when you do that."

I kept my eyes closed as I heard the camera snap again and again. Every flash brightened the inside of my eyelids. Caught between the pleasure of orgasm and the humiliation of realizing just how far I'd fallen, I concentrated on my breathing. Slow and steady. In and out.

Finally, she was done.

"You can shower before you leave. The key is on the dresser. Along with your money."

I felt her nearby. Without another word, she leaned close to me and kissed me tenderly on the cheek. "You'll always be mine now, remember that."

I nodded, eyes still closed, and waited for the sound of the door opening and closing again before I sank to my knees, dropped my head between my shoulders, and wept like the child she'd made me.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**A/N: Thanks, Pixie. I really needed that. Though this series is done being written, I'm well past the point of caring if it ever finishes posting. Not to be melodramatic, but in the midst of so many people who don't care, it's easy to forget that there are still people who do. Feel free to send me a pm or an email if you ever want to chat - sss979(at)a-teamwriters(dot)com.**

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**1973**

"Hey, Templeton," Mike greeted as I stepped up to the bar. "I guess business has picked up, huh?"

I sighed as I sat down on the end of the bar, up against the wall, and put my head in my hands. Hard to believe I'd actually been bored a few days ago. Diane, Sam, and Steve's client - whatever the hell her name had been - were the prelude to a quick and painless few days with Anna, whom I didn't mind, the arrangement with Helen, which would never happen again, and an unexpected visit from Leigh, which had just about drained me.

To be fair, the lack of warning wasn't Leigh's fault. The envelope was actually postmarked the beginning of last month. But it hadn't arrived at my hotel until the day before she came in. Leigh was one of my regulars. She was also one of the most exhausting women I'd ever laid. Barring Sam. Different reasons, though.

I'd take a night with Sam any day of the week over most all of my clients.

"Well, you aren't your normal, cheerful self today," Mike observed, setting a shot glass down in front of me and filling it with Crown.

I reached for it and threw it back, putting the glass back down on the bar a little harder than strictly necessary. "I need a vacation."

"Uh huh. Why don't you take your pretty girlfriend with you?"

I hid my face with my hand. "What girlfriend?" I didn't have the patience for games, and there were a number of "girlfriends" that Mike had been introduced to.

"The one who's been sittin' over there the past three days waitin' for you to show up."

I glanced up, confused, and looked in the direction that Mike was pointing. At a table near the window on the opposite side of the lounge, Tamika was staring out at the evening sky and the plane that was coming in for a landing.

"Oh, God, not now." I couldn't have kept the words from forming if I'd tried, and I didn't have the willpower to try. I turned back to the bar, holding my head in my hands.

Mike laughed. "What do you mean, not now? Girl been sittin' there three days and waitin' for you. You'd damn well better go talk to her."

I sighed and glanced up, not amused. Then I reached for the shot glass and handed it back. "Fill that again, will you?"

Mike offered a sympathetic smile. "Rough night, huh?"

"Several." I hid my face in my hands. "Somebody please tell me what circle of hell I'm in when all a woman wants to talk about is how fat she is. I swear to God, I ran out of ways to tell her she was attractive after the first two hours."

"Was she?"

I dropped my hands. "What, attractive?"

"Yeah." Mike passed the full glass back across.

"Not particularly. But I've slept with worse."

I threw the shot back. Mike laughed. If I could've killed him with my glare, I probably would've done it in that moment.

"Glad somebody finds this amusing."

He chuckled. "Sorry." He wasn't sorry.

I sighed. "Seriously, Mike, how do you word that? 'Yes, you're old. You have hot flashes and mood swings and lots of other problems that I frankly don't want to hear about. But I've fucked worse, so don't worry about it.'"

Mike laughed again.

"Templeton?"

Aw, shit.

Well-rehearsed lines and a smile that was pure instinct took over my conscious thought. "Tamika." I knew it was her before I saw her, but I was careful not to speak until I'd turned. "What a pleasant surprise."

She didn't answer.

I stood up and ushered her to the seat beside him. "Please," I invited. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Another orange juice for the pretty lady?" Mike offered with a smile that almost matched mine.

"Sure," she answered with a fake smile of her own.

Well, at least we were all smiling.

"She came in three days ago askin' if I knew where to find you," Mike informed me as he filled another glass with orange juice and passed it to her. "I told her you usually come here every couple days. Glad you didn't make a liar out of me." He set down the orange juice in front of her. "If you two need anything," he smiled. "You just let me know."

"Thanks, Mike."

I reached for my water and took a small sip, washing down the taste of the whiskey that still lingered. Now I had to talk, and find intelligent things to say. Shifting gears from one client to the next was always tricky. This time, I knew I'd been caught off guard. It wasn't a feeling I was comfortable with.

I regrouped my thoughts as quickly as I could and glanced over at Tamika. She still hadn't said anything, head down as she studied her glass of orange juice. It was probably a safe bet that I was going to have to initiate this conversation.

"Well, I'm trusting that if you've been waiting here as long as Mike says you have," I finally started, cautiously, "you didn't come to argue."

She glanced up and caught my eye briefly, then lowered her head again. "Actually, I came to apologize."

Apologize? That was unexpected. I'd been anticipating some kind of truce - she probably wanted to give me the money back - but not an outright apology. I sipped my water, looking sideways at her but not speaking. If that was why she'd come, then it was her move.

"It was..." She sighed deeply, putting her shoulders back as she sat up straighter. She looked across at me. "It was a bad time. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"What do you mean?" I asked unassumingly.

"Samantha and I," she stared down at her drink with a sad smile, "we have issues."

My next question was much more direct. "Why do you put up with her?"

Tamika laughed quietly. "Actually, it's normally the other way around. She puts up with me."

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Penance?"

I raised a brow. I hadn't been expecting that. "For what?"

Her eyes remained down for a long moment. Then, finally, she looked up. "I don't talk about that," she said quietly.

I smiled, recognizing - and respecting - the words. "Fair enough." I sat back. She wasn't hostile. And I still had an obligation to fulfill. She'd either have it or she wouldn't. "Do you think you could find something else to talk about?"

"What do you mean?"

"Say, over dinner? If you've been sitting in this airport for three days, I can't imagine you've had a decent meal." She eyed me suspiciously and I laughed. At least it wasn't a no. Not yet. I tread carefully, taking another sip of water as I smiled. "Oh, come on. What do you have to lose? Or what do I have to gain - whichever way you choose to look at it."

She hesitated. Then, finally, she nodded. "Alright," she agreed reluctantly. "What did you have in mind?"

**1986**

"Hey."

I blinked in surprise as I closed the door behind me. "Hey, James. What are you doing up?"

He ignored the question, eyeing me suspiciously. "You just getting in?"

He didn't have to be a genius to figure that out. I was dressed in the same clothes I'd been wearing yesterday and I was pretty sure that by now there were rings under my eyes.

"No, I couldn't sleep."

"Yeah, you look like hell."

I smiled faintly. Leave it to James to see without the rose colored glasses that the lady from Vermont had been so apt to use. Of course, those rose colored glasses probably had more to do with boredom and significant amounts of alcohol.

"Hey, you wanna go for a jog?"

I groaned internally. Hell no, I didn't want to go for a jog. Actually, I wanted a shower, a change of clothes, and a quick nap. And an aspirin. And coffee. I had a headache.

"Not really."

"Oh, come on." Clearly, James was not deterred. "There's like _nothing _to do here and I'm bored. And mom will spaz if I go alone."

"Why would she spaz?" I asked.

"You're kidding, right?" He stared at me, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

I sighed. "I'll take your word for it."

He was rummaging through his backpack, clearly intent on this jogging excursion. I was running out of time to find a smooth way to talk myself out of it. "James, I hate jogging." Maybe not smooth, but at least truthful.

"Yeah, but it's good for you."

"I didn't even bring clothes to -"

I cut off as he threw a pair of sweats at me and smiled. "I didn't figure you did."

So in other words, he'd been planning this. I sighed as I resigned myself to a morning jog and tossed the sweatpants on the bed. So much for a nap.

**1973**

I was tired. And I was praying that it wasn't showing. The waiter was pleasant and dinner was worth every penny, even if Tamika didn't have much to say. She was very good at avoiding questions, and I knew better than to press; it wasn't how the game was played. But the lingering silences gave me ample time to think about how much I _really _needed a few days off. I was drained. I hadn't been this busy for this many days in a row in months. In fact, not since I'd first come to Vegas, and had to work at getting myself established.

I'd spent dinner concentrated on my surroundings to keep myself alert. I didn't particularly mind the stares and whispers. Hell, I was used to them. I was glad to see that they didn't seem to bother Tamika. Most people didn't let their stares linger too long, but I was sure she noticed. I hadn't imagined racial segregation to be much of a problem in Vegas. It had been abolished, by law, more than fifteen years ago. Even before then, this was probably one of the most tolerant cities in the States. But there were a lot of tourists. And old habits die hard.

The dimly lit bar, well off the beaten path, had seemed a safe place.

"So how long have you lived in Vegas?"

She sipped the glass of wine carefully. "A long time," she answered. "You?"

"A short time."

She smirked a little. We had been dancing around each other all evening now. I still knew almost nothing about her, and she didn't know much more about me. Attempts to loosen her tongue with wine had failed, and I'd been forced to either give up or appear obvious. I wasn't about to show my hand.

"You seem to know your way around," she observed.

I sipped from my glass slowly. "I don't enjoy feeling like a tourist," I explained. "Or looking like one. I tried to learn my way around quickly."

She chuckled. "Around the city? Or around its people?"

I raised a brow as I glanced at her. Most people didn't recognize the distinction. It was comments like that that made me wonder if she was trying to play _me_. I wasn't about to let that happen. "Both," I smiled back.

She finally finished with the glass of wine she'd been nursing for the past hour, put her cigarette out in the ashtray, and stood up from the table. "I'll be back in a minute."

"I'll be here."

I watched her go, toward the bathrooms, weaving her way through the crowd with grace and ease. I used the few minutes to reflect, both on her performance and my own. The game was not unpleasant. She was actually interesting. But I wasn't really in the mood for it tonight. What I really wanted, more than anything, was a shower, a glass of really good scotch, and a cigarette. I'd settled for wine and a cigar, but the shower was still high on my list of priorities. So was a good night's sleep. I was exhausted...

I glanced back across the room, where Tamika had disappeared, and did a double take as I saw her nose to nose with a scantily clad 5'2 blond. Warning bells rang. I didn't have the slightest clue what had been said or by whom, but the blond - clearly drunk - was trying to push Tamika backwards. Tamika wasn't going for it. Her fist was slowly clenching. I rose quickly.

"Problem, ladies?" I asked with a smile, stepping up beside them both.

Tamika didn't take her eyes off of the blond, who looked at me with disdain. "Mind your own business, asshole." I could smell the liquor on her breath.

I reached for Tamika - to lead her away. Somehow, the blond must have seen it as an attack. She flew at ms, fists flailing in a drunken flurry. Startled, I held off the instinct to hit back and instead grabbed her wrists. She screamed.

"Hey, man, what're you doin'!"

I let her go with a shove that was only meant to put a safe distance between them. There was no way I'd pushed her hard enough to send her sprawling - but that's exactly what she did. Great. She was tryingto start a fight. I turned to look at the deeply suntanned, 250 pound, 6'2 man who was stepping up to her rescue.

I raised my hands in surrender. "Look, I don't want any trouble," I said, well aware of the fact that I'd suddenly become the center of attention in this section of the bar. "I was just leaving." The last thing I needed right now was a bar brawl. I'd made it all the way through Vietnam without a broken nose. It would be fucking ironic if it happened in a bar in Las Vegas.

"Good."

The man stepped forward, shoving me just enough to knock me off balance. The smell was strong on him, too. He was just as drunk as the girl. He was definitely looking for a fight. I moved back, away from him, hands still raised.

"Hey, take it outside, will ya?" the bartender pleaded, noticing the crowd.

"You wanna take it outside, punk?"

Another shove, another step back. Not here. Not now. Those days were long over...

"No," I answered. "No, I just want to walk away. I'm leaving."

I glanced at Tamika, who immediately moved toward me. She latched my arm as I walked backwards - I knew better than to turn my back on the guy - and guided me in the direction of the door. At a safe distance, I finally turned around. The crowd parted to let the two of us through. At least they weren't screaming for blood.

"That's right, pussy, you run," the drunk, belligerent man called after me. If he was trying to get a reaction, he failed. "And take your nigger girlfriend with you."

But that got one.

"Templeton," Tamika whispered as I stopped dead in my tracks. "Don't."

She tugged on my arm, but I ignored her as I turned slowly. Not willing to let go of my arm, she turned with me. "Excuse me?" I demanded.

The man sneered at me. "That's right, you heard me."

Tamika moved behind me, her chin on my shoulder so she could speak quietly and be heard. "It's not a big deal," she whispered. "Please."

It probably had less to do with Tamika than she thought. She wasn't my girlfriend, and "defending her honor" would logically have taken a backseat to self-preservation had he used any other term. There were other reasons why that word made me see red. Not least among them were a significant number of men who'd fought and died for a country that had continued to view them as second rate citizens. Maybe the association wasn't entirely rational - in fact, I knew it wasn't - but my conditioned response to that word had been established years ago. It was one sure way to get my fists up.

The man sauntered forward slowly, one smooth, confident step at a time. He had a smirk on his lips as he played to the crowd, who was all watching him, waiting anxiously. They were laying their bets now. There was a significant size difference. But the man was also drunk. And there were... other factors that the crowd could not know about.

"I don't think I heard you correctly," I said low, tipping my head down a fraction, eyes locked on my opponent.

The man snickered. "I think you heard me just fine. Take your little niggarette pine tree ornament and get the fuck outta here."

Mika straightened.

Very slowly, I shook my head. "You don't want to do this," I warned as the man came within range.

"Oh, yeah? Why not?"

I could feel it rising up inside of me. So quiet for so long - buried under so many layers of the "socially acceptable" behavior of one Templeton Peck. So many faked smiles and expensive suits and pleasant lies. But as the adrenaline poured into my veins, I could feel the Darkness come over me like a shadow. Bloodlust. Kill instinct. Fight or flight. And I had no intention of running.

God damn. That felt so good...

There was still a woman standing near me, hanging on my arm. "Back away, Mika."

The taller man, standing over me, reached over my shoulder to touch her and I knocked his hand away with a growl. I could've broken his wrist right there. But I didn't.

The two of us locked hateful stares as I warned him, one last time. "Back. The fuck off."

"Take it outside, you two!"

It was the last thing I heard before I forgot my surroundings completely. A fist coming toward me caught my mouth. I let it land. It would be the only blow I'd give the drunken bastard. I swung back, catching the side of the man's nose in a blow that would've broken it if I'd hit a little more to the left. My aim was off. I was out of practice.

The man grabbed my jacket as we both raised fists again. I twisted, under and around the man's arm, pulling him off balance. Resisting the urge to snap his arm right then and there, I grabbed him by the hair. I had to throw all of my weight into the effort of turning him to the bar. But I succeeded. Still holding his hair, I slammed his head into the counter.

Glass broke. When the man stood again, he was holding a broken bottle. I didn't have time to dodge it. It sliced down my arm, but I felt only an awareness of injury - not pain. It was easy to ignore as I pulled my fist back again, not the least bit deterred. This time, the man's nose gave me that satisfying "pop" that let me know I'd broken it. It also busted my knuckles open.

Another swing with the broken bottle. I grabbed his wrist with one hand, his forearm with the other, then pulled and twisted. I heard - and felt - the crack. The man screamed in pain.

I let go of my opponent's broken wrist as the bottle clattered to the floor, and reached up to grab the collar of the guy's shirt. Again, I used my weight to throw him - this time to the floor. He fell and lay there writhing, cradling his arm close to him and bleeding profusely from his nose.

"You broke my goddamn wrist!" he cried. "You...!"

I wiped the hot, salty blood from my own mouth with the back of my hand, then spit at the guy's feet. "Go to hell you fucking redneck." The voice was familiar... but it wasn't mine. It was someone else - someone inside of me perhaps. But someone long dead. Someone I barely even recognized anymore.

I took a step back, caught the gaze of the bartender who was already on the phone with the police, and reached into my pocket. I held up a hundred dollar bill between his fingers before I dropped it on the bar. "Sorry about the mess."

The barkeep stared, wide-eyed, as I turned, grabbed Tamika by the arm, and headed out of the bar before the police arrived.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**1973**

Tamika didn't say a word, all the way back to her apartment. She didn't look at me, either. It didn't bother me. I would've rather she didn't, if I was honest. I needed time to regroup, to rethink, to remember who I was. Whatever the justification, I didn't like what had happened back there. I wasn't even sure how it had.

Only once we were safely inside of the apartment, and under the bright lights in the living room, did she finally look at me.

"You're a mess."

"I figured." I was holding my bleeding hand over the gash on my arm, still oozing blood onto my black suit coat. "Do you mind if I wash up?"

"Not at all."

She followed me into the bathroom, and stood in the doorway as I took a look at myself in the mirror. The damage to my face was minimal. That was the important part.

"Where on earth did you learn how to fight like that?" she asked timidly.

"I was the youngest child in a family of ten," I answered, rinsing my hands and then my mouth. My lip was still bleeding, but no teeth were loose. "It would be more surprising if I _didn't _know how to fight like that."

In the mirror, I saw her grab a towel from the cabinet. "Sit," she ordered, pushing me back from the sink.

I sat down on the edge of the bathtub, putting my hand back over the wound on my arm, and watched as she wet the corner of the towel. "Blood will stain that," I reminded her.

"That's okay." She knelt down on the floor next to him, pushing my forehead back a little to tip my chin towards the light. I let her continue, although I knew my arm was a bigger concern. She probably hadn't even realized the cut there.

"You're lucky he didn't break your nose. He was damn sure strong enough."

"He was also drunk. That put him at a disadvantage."

"Still, it's -" She suddenly stopped. "My God."

"What?" I asked, startled by her tone. I opened my eyes and saw her staring at my arm.

"Your hand."

"Oh." I pulled it away, noting the amount of blood on it again even though I'd just rinsed it. "Actually, it's my arm."

She set the towel down on the edge of the tub and pushed my jacket back. Carefully, I shrugged it off, letting her take my arm. She stared at the blood that had completely saturated the sleeve of the white dress shirt. "Oh, Templeton, we've got to get you to a hospital."

"Nah, it's not -"

"Templeton!" She looked up at him, worried. "Look at this! You're going to need a dozen stitches at least!"

I turned my head to look at it, and used my other hand to rip the shirt a little so I could actually see the wound. Fifteen stitches, was my guess.

"How did this even happen? I didn't see it."

"He grabbed a bottle or a glass or something off the bar." I glanced up at her. "You got a needle and thread?"

She stared at me incredulously. "Are you kidding?"

"No. Why? Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"You're going to sew up your own arm?"

"Unless you'd like to do it."

"I can take you to the -"

"I don't need to go to the hospital," I interrupted her. "Really, it's not that big a deal. Why should I pay someone else to do it for me?"

Jaw dropped, she stood still for a moment longer.

"Please?"

Finally, she turned away. While she was gone, I carefully stripped my shirt and dropped it in the tub behind me, careful not to let it drip blood on the floor. Then I grabbed the towel and wet it in the tub, leaning back as I cleaned the edges of the wound. It wasn't really that deep, but it was a long cut. I was aware of the pain now, but it wasn't unbearable.

Tamika returned a moment later, setting an olive green sewing box on the counter. "Anything else, doctor?" she asked, eyeing me skeptically.

I looked up, and smiled. "If you can thread it for me, that'd be a big help."

"Oh, of course," she answered, sarcastically feigning a light and carefree tone. "Would you like black, white, or pink?"

I held the wet towel against the wound, studying it as she threaded the needle. "Doesn't matter. Do you have any rubbing alcohol? Or peroxide?"

"That's gonna burn like hell."

"But it'll get it clean."

She handed me the needle and thread, and I took it from her carefully. "Thanks."

A moment later, she returned with a brown bottle of peroxide, and sat down beside me to watch while I cleaned the wound, then sewed it closed. Thirteen stitches. When I was finished, I handed the needle back to her with a smile. "Thanks."

"I suppose you learned that from your older siblings, too?" she asked, returning the needle to the sewing box.

"My mother was a nurse," I replied. "And we couldn't afford to call a doctor every time one of us needed stitches."

"With so many kids, I would assume it was a regular occurrence."

I smiled, ignoring the hint of sarcasm in her tone. I wasn't entirely sure that she believed me. I wasn't entirely sure that I cared. "You would assume correctly." Until I confirmed what she did or didn't know, I was just going to have to keep playing the game.

She handed me an oversized, "I love NY" T-shirt. "You got any bandages I can put over this?" I asked.

"I've got band-aids. That's it."

"Lots of them?"

"Enough to cover that."

"That'll work, then. I just need to keep it covered."

Several minutes later, my knuckles and upper arm covered with strips and strips of band-aids, I carefully slipped the T-shirt over my head. "This isn't a priceless souvenir, is it?" I asked, pulling the sleeve down over the wound. "Because I can't promise I won't bleed on it."

"No, you can have it."

I picked up my own shirt, wrung it out, and carried it to the kitchen. After depositing it in the trash, I washed my hands in the sink and turned to look back at the woman who was standing in the doorway.

"Well, this has certainly been one of the most interesting dates I have ever been on."

I smiled as I dried my hands. "Does that mean that I can see you again?"

She laughed. "You actually want to? After an episode like that?"

I shrugged, and set the towel back on the counter. "The guy was a jerk. I'm glad I got the opportunity to put him in his place."

She smirked slightly. "Alright," she agreed. "You do get extra credit for being wounded in the line of duty."

I laughed at that, and paused just briefly as I passed her on my way to the door. "You can come and pin a medal on my pillow if you'd like."

She didn't look at me, and I kept walking with a smile.

"Tuesday," she said as I reached the door. She glanced back over her shoulder at me. "Unless you're working?"

"I'll take the night off."

"Fine. I'll see you then."

I opened the door with a smile. "Good night, Tamika. Sweet dreams."

I couldn't help but notice the smile as I closed the door behind me - or the fact that it was genuine.

**1986**

There was something a little too familiar about this routine. How many times had I run this stretch? It looked different in places; casinos came and went. But still it all felt the same. I headed for Fremont without even thinking, a comfortable pace in the cool morning air. It was going to get hot today. Actually, it would probably be hot by the time we got back.

"It's about five miles round trip from here, down Fremont, and back," I advised with a quick glance at James. "Can you do that?"

The cocky smile he flashed me was both strange to see on James and very much familiar. It was the smile I saw in the mirror, even more familiar since James had left his glasses behind.

"No sweat."

The ground was flat, the pavement relatively new. Heading down the boulevard, in the direction opposite the strip, I took a few minutes to look around. Most of these smaller buildings were the same as they had been before, though a few were new. And a few that I remembered had been torn down. As the sun crept up into the sky and that heat began to set in, I was already sweating more than what was probably healthy, given how much water I _hadn't_ had to drink this morning. This was going to be a long five miles.

James was watching me with subtle glances. I could feel his gaze, and the glances from the tourists. I was used to that. Even hung over and sleep deprived, I had never had a problem attracting women's attention.

I was sweating more than he was. He wasn't even breathing hard. "I thought you jogged all the time," he observed, curious.

"Not if I can help it."

It was a necessary part of life; I had to ensure I could outrun MPs, or whatever danger happened to be coming my way. Being out of shape wasn't an option. But I'd never enjoyed it. Well, almost never. Ironically enough, it had been these very roads that I'd used to get some time away when I'd needed it most, all those years ago. I'd enjoyed it then. It was one of the few things I'd really enjoyed then. An escape...

I realized my mind was wandering and glanced at James briefly. "We are going to have to stop for water on Fremont." It had been really stupid starting on this without drinking first.

Damned if that kid didn't smirk at me. "Sure, if you need to."

Any other time, I might have risen to that challenge with enthusiasm. But as it was, I had little interest in proving anything to anyone. I could do this jog, and the women stared the same way they always did - though it was hard to tell with some of them which of us they were actually staring at - and there was a shower at the end of this long road. That was all I really cared about at the moment.

"I'd prefer to avoid the heat stroke, thanks."

James laughed at that - with real humor, like nothing in the world was more fun than jogging at the crack of dawn in scorching heat. "Yeah, Mom would be real upset if our jog ended up with a trip to the ER."

Once the endorphins started kicking in, and the adrenaline, I could feel my mood lightening. Heart rate and footsteps fell into a steady pattern with each breath, and after the first mile, the run was effortless. I could've gone on forever at that point, if not for the fact that I really did need the water.

We stopped at a casino on Fremont to drink until we couldn't drink anymore, then took a few minutes to let our bodies settle before starting again. Outside on the street, T-shirt drenched, I finally just pulled it off and wiped up the sweat on my arms and neck before tucking it into the band of the shorts.

It was a few moments before James did the same. He was less confident but he was following my lead. There was a comfortable silence for a while. James was content with observing. It wasn't until the blonde with ample cleavage and a less-than-covering top nearly tripped over herself while watching us that he spoke again.

"Man, you are a babe magnet. Must be nice."

I chuckled. "What makes you think they're looking at me?"

"'Cause I have never had a girl trip over herself to watch me jog?" It was said with all the authority and implied eye roll of a sixteen-year-old. "Women always watch you. Even Mom."

"You never had it happen or never _noticed _it? Big difference."

He shrugged as he thought about that. Sometimes, just watching him, he seemed impossibly young. Had I ever been that young? Of course, I had. But I'd grown up faster, and much less protected. Jess had done a hell of a lot to keep them protected. She must have freaked when James said he wanted to be a soldier.

"I'm the quiet brain at school," James finally admitted. "The girls there go for the jocks or the rebels. I'm neither. I don't see much point in practicing for hours to move a ball ten yards, and last thing I want to be is like Heather's loser boyfriend. What are they rebelling against anyway? The car their parents bought them?"

"Well, if it means anything to you, I wasn't the jock or the rebel either." I paused for a moment, debating the wisdom - let alone the authority - in giving him dating advice. But the way he was looking at me made it very clear he was asking for it. "You gotta look under the stereotypes to figure out what it is they're actually _looking _for. 'Cause it's never a type, it's a feeling. Once you find out what that feeling is they're after, it's easy to capitalize on it."

I could see the gears in his head turning. The kid was smart and usually very careful with what he said. He was manipulative, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing - especially considering who he lived with. If he attacked everything head on, living with Jess and Heather would be a war zone. He got what he wanted by taking the roundabout way. The length of time it took for him to reply meant he was either angling for something very specific or he wasn't sure what was the best way to say what he needed to say.

"How can you figure out what they want to feel? Cause I live with two women and I can't figure out what they are talking about let alone what they want to feel."

I shrugged. "That just comes with practice. You can tell a lot by how they carry themselves - if they're looking for someone to protect them or challenge them or make them feel wanted, loved, and cherished." I paused for a few steps. "The last one's the only kind that's dangerous. Their hearts tend to break a little too easy. Don't get messed up with that girl unless you're ready to be on a leash."

He was faster to answer that one. "How can you tell which ones those are? I mean if you watch any of those stupid movies that girls like, that's what they all want. Love and forever and being swept away."

There was a almost a shiver from him at the thought. It made me laugh. "Well, then, don't go after the girls who like those kind of movies."

Seemed simple enough, but he looked at me like I had just sprouted a second head. "They _all_ like those movies. That's why they call them chick flicks. Even the punk girls waited in line see _Officer and a Gentleman_."

I shrugged at that. "And the role of an officer and gentleman is good to be able to play. But it doesn't have to be any more than that. It's just a role. And sometimes that's all they want."

Those serious eyes studied me for a few beats before he broke into a brilliant smile. "Well that sounds a hell of a lot better than a leash."

I couldn't help but smile. "Damn right it does."


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**1986**

Jessica was asleep when I slipped back into her room. I used her shower, since James was in his, and emerged a few minutes later in jeans, toweling my hair dry. She hadn't even moved since I'd left her in the middle of the night. I let the towel rest on my shoulders as I sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed her hair back from her face.

"Good morning, Jess."

She groaned an attempt at a reply, and blinked a few times. "Huh?"

"It's morning."

"Are the kids up?"

"James is. I don't know about Heather."

She groaned again.

"How's your head?"

"S'fine..." She rubbed her eyes as she woke up.

"How's your memory?"

"My memory?"

"You were pretty drunk last night."

She groaned, covering her face with her hand. "Oh God..."

I chuckled. "Relax. It's alright."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. Nothing happened. You just didn't want to be alone." I turned and lay down on top of the blanket, facing her, one arm propping up my head. "And I didn't mind."

"I'm sure."

I knew it was sarcasm, but wasn't exactly sure how she'd meant it. Was it an insult? "If I'd minded, I wouldn't have agreed to stay," I answered quietly, seriously.

She sighed, and I reached out a hand to brush her hair back from her face. I was crouching in on her personal space and I knew it. But given that she _had _just asked me to sleep in her bed, I didn't think it was too forward.

"You sleep okay?"

"Fine," she answered quietly.

"Fine" was one of those words that always meant danger. Anytime something was "fine," it was not "fine." I'd learned that a long time ago. "Just fine" was as much a distress code with women as it was with the team; we had long ago established that nothing should ever be "just fine."

"Anything I can do?"

"I said I was fine, Face."

"I know. That's why I'm asking."

She looked up and glared briefly at me. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing."

"I was drunk last night."

"Yes, I know."

"I said I was sorry. What more do you want?"

"I don't want anything from you."

She didn't speak again, and I raised a brow as I studied her for a moment. "You know, Jess, you're so damn suspicious of me, sometimes I really wonder how we've managed to be friends this long."

"I don't know," she admitted. "I guess I just always figured it was part of your game."

"My game?"

"You're always telling me everything I want to hear. Doing everything right." She looked at me, her voice dripping cynicism. "Nobody's that good and actually genuine about it."

"I am."

She rolled her eyes and pushed herself up. "Oh, please."

I leaned back a little as I watched her rise to her feet and pace away from me. She was defensive - even moody. This would normally be the part where I left quietly so as to avoid being the target of her emotions. That was the safe thing to do. So why wasn't I leaving.

"Where is this coming from, Jess? I remember last night - probably better than you do. I haven't done anything to you."

"It's not about last night."

"Then what is it about?"

She sighed audibly as she grabbed her clothes out of her suitcase and walked to the bathroom. But I didn't hear the door close as she called back to me. "Face, everything you do is a manipulative game."

"What is it you think I want from you?" I asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

"Hell if I know."

I stood slowly, slipped my hands into my pockets, and wandered toward the bathroom. "If you're so sure I'm trying to manipulate you," I paused in the doorway, watching her for a moment as she slipped her shirt on with her back to me, "then why do you leave the door open?"

She turned and glared, but if she was surprised to see me there, she didn't show it.

"I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment."

"Well, masochism _is _your style."

Damn it. I couldn't stop the words before they came out. And the stunned, hurt look that crossed her face was proof positive that I was hitting below the belt with that. I lowered my eyes away.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're right," she said coldly. "I am a masochist. I'm sure that makes your job much easier."

I stepped aside as she pushed past me. There were comebacks I could make to that, but I said nothing.

"I'm going home," she declared, tossing her clothes from the night before into the suitcase. "And I'm taking the kids. You can stay and rot in this sleazy hell hole for all I care."

I could feel the headache starting to form, and reached up to massage the bridge of my nose in an attempt to dissipate it. "Why are we fighting?"

She stopped, turned, and stared at me. After a moment of silence, I dropped my hand again and met her gaze.

"You asked me to help you with Heather. I did. You asked me to stay with you last night, and I did. So either I'm not reading your wildly mixed signals right, or you can't settle on the facts."

"Mixed signals?" I knew that tone - that challenging, bitchy tone. I didn't want to touch it with a ten foot pole. But she was already stepping toward me. "You want to talk about mixed signals?"

"No, I don't want to talk about mixed signals."

"Let me tell you something about mixed signals."

_Oh, God, please make it stop..._

"Let me tell you about a man who will drop everything and run to Vegas with me to find my daughter. Who will take me out and wine and dine me because I had a shitty date the night before. Who will sleep next to me in my bed - and that wasn't even the first time! - simply because I don't want to be alone. But that man, who does everything that every woman wishes her boyfriend would love her enough to do, can't even kiss me and mean it."

"And that's what you want?"

"Jesus Christ, Face, are you gay or is it me?"

Now it was my turn to be struck. It would've been less striking if it had sounded like an insult. Instead, it sounded like a real question. And it was one I hadn't been prepared for. That she might be thinking that hadn't even crossed my mind. And as I stood still trying to figure out a good answer to that, she stood silent and waiting. Finally, I looked away to buy myself another minute to think and she took a deep breath, and spoke in a much calmer tone.

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you gay?"

"No."

"I don't care; I just want to know."

"Jess." I looked back up, meeting her stare. "I dealt with that question a long time ago. And the answer is still no."

She took another deep breath. "Then it's me."

That wasn't really the conclusion I wanted her to come to, either. But it was at least closer to the truth.

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse."

On a positive note, that confrontational tone was out of her voice.

I sighed as I sat down on the edge of the bed. After a long pause, she turned her back to me, covering her face with her hand. Whether embarrassed or trying not to cry, I couldn't really tell. And I didn't really want to know.

"What do you want from me, Jess?" I finally asked, as quiet and non-threatening as I could manage. "You always act like you're under attack. Like you've got to stay on your guard. But you keep wanting me to get close."

"You're wrong."

"In what sense? That you consider me a threat or that you want me close?"

"You've always been a threat."

That was both painfully honest and incredibly exasperating. I sighed deeply as I leaned forward, holding my head in my hands. "A threat to what?"

"To me."

"I have never threatened you."

"You don't understand, Face."

She turned. I let my hands drop and looked up at her again, waiting for the explanation.

"If I ever fell in love with you, it would kill me."

"And if I ever _let _you fall in love with me, it wouldn't be to hurt you."

She stared, dumbstruck and eyes slightly wider than normal as I sighed, stood, and crossed the few steps toward her. She lowered her eyes as I cupped the side of her face with my hand. "If all I wanted out of you was sex, Jess - to make you fall in love with me for the sake of a few minutes of feeling good - we would've done that a long time ago."

"You think that's what love is, don't you? Sex?"

"No. But I think you want me to kiss you and mean it. And I know I could make you believe that I do, because you want to believe it. But I know that wouldn't end well."

"Why?" Damn it, there were tears in her eyes. I hated seeing that. "Is it as simple as a fear of commitment? Of being vulnerable?"

"Call it whatever you want, Jess."

"Are you even half as terrified of me as I am of you?"

"Yes. But in a very different way."

"In what way?"

"Because if I ever let you fall in love with me, it would hurt you. And that would kill me."

Her eyes shut. Lashes damp, she looked away. I smoothed my hand down the side of her neck, over her shoulder.

"I'm very good at what I do, Jess. Telling people exactly what they need to hear to give me what I want. In my world, people are commodities - especially women. The team is different and I can't explain why. But everyone else..."

The tears overflowed. I sighed as I stepped back and leaned on the windowsill.

"Yes, you are very good at that, Face," she whispered. "You have using people down to a science."

"And I'm very aware of when I'm not doing it."

She looked up slowly, confused, but didn't speak.

"You've known me for eight years, Jess, not counting Vietnam. What is it you think I want from you?"

"I don't know. If I did, I would give it."

"Don't," I said firmly, a little louder than I'd intended. "Don't you do that to me."

"Do what to you?"

"Don't you stand there and say things that are going to force me to break your heart."

"You don't need my help to do that."  
>I was moving before she had a chance to go any further - hands on her arms, turning and pushing her back to the wall. She gasped as her back hit the drywall, eyes wide. But I didn't hurt her. I had no intention of hurting her.<p>

"Don't."

It wasn't a well thought-out plan. Had I thought it through, I would've realized that it put me much closer to her than I wanted to be right now. Damn it. I should've stepped back - away from the tears and the pheromones and the fear and a situation I did not want to get into. Not with her. But instead of moving away, I held her gaze.

"This is not what you want, Jess."

"You're so damn good at this," she whispered, tears flowing freely now. "You could wrap me up in a nice neat package of whatever you want me to be, tell me it's who I am, and I'd believe you."

"But I haven't _done_ that!"

"But you could. And you know it. That's..." She shut her eyes and swallowed hard as the tears ran. "That's terrifying. It would be different if you didn't know."

"I can't change that."

"And you wouldn't if you could."

"No. I wouldn't. I _have _to be good at what I do. It's how I survive."

Slowly, she opened her eyes again, locking gazes with me. This would be a good time to step away. But something deep and hurting and needful in her eyes kept me rooted in place.

"Kiss me."

And with that, she'd forced my hand. She'd done exactly what I didn't want her to do. Did she _want _me to play her? So she could prove she was right in all of her fear, turn around and walk away? Or maybe she just wanted this friendship, such as it was, to end. I couldn't blame her for that - not really. But I was surprised by the feeling of loss and emptiness it left in my chest.

"I don't love you, Jessica."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

"Don't tell me what I want, Face. I can't make you love me. But you can't stop me from loving you."

Finally, I stepped back, letting go of her arms. Pulling the towel from around my neck, I tossed it on the chair by the table.

"I _am_ sorry," I said quietly, sincerely, as I grabbed the key for the room next door off of the table. Without looking at her, I turned and headed for the door.

"Face."

I stopped a few steps from the door, but didn't turn back. Instead, I waited for her to speak. It took her a few long seconds to do so.

"What does that mean?"

"What does what mean?"

"That you're sorry."

Slowly, I turned back to face her and took a deep breath. "You know where I stand, Jessica. What do you want from me?"

She closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and hesitated a long moment before she answered, voice cracking slightly. "Can we pretend this conversation happened last night? When I was very drunk?"

I hesitated a moment. Then, finally, I nodded. "Sure."

"Just tell me one thing, Face."

"What?"

She took a few deep, irregular breaths - and licked her lips again. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up at me. "Where is the line?" There was uncertainty in her eyes, and a mix of emotions I couldn't even identify. "Where's the line between friends and lovers?"

I hesitated for a long moment, and shook my head. "I don't know," I finally admitted. "I've had friends - some of whom I've actually cared a lot about. And I've had a lot of women. But I've never had a lover, so I've never needed to set that boundary."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**1986**

"This place is great!" James was highly impressed with the casino restaurant - a buffet a hundred feet long with foods from all over the world. He was on his third plate and still going strong.

"I don't think I've eaten so much in one sitting in _years_," Jessica agreed. "One more bite, and I'm going to explode."

Heather smirked. "Go ahead. I wanna see that."

Jessica shot her a brief glare.

"People come to Vegas to gamble," I said, grinning at the exchange. "They don't like to spend money on food. So the casinos figured out a long time ago that they can lure people in with good food at cheap prices. And then while you're here, you might as well play at their tables."

"I'd come here just for the food." James grinned. "Forget the tables."

"So what did you come here for?" Heather asked, sipping a Pepsi Free. She was done eating, too.

"What do you mean?" I replied innocently.

James laughed. "It's pretty obvious you've been here before. Just a gambling vacation?"

"Actually," I paused and lifted my glass of water, considering my words before I spoke, "I lived here for a while."

"Really?" Now Jessica was interested as well. "When?"

"Came here in early 1972." He sipped the water, then set it back down. "Stayed for about a year and a half."

"What did you do?" Heather asked.

"Do?"

"Well, if you lived here, you had to have a job." She smirked. "Did you work in a casino? Robbing the poor innocent tourists of their hard earned wages?"

I chuckled. "No."

"What did you do?" James asked.

I glanced at him. "I was a bartender," I finally answered.

"How old were you?"

"Nineteen." Oops. "Twenty-two. Sorry."

Heather laughed. "Can't keep your story straight?"

"At nineteen, you wouldn't have been old enough to work at a bar," James said.

"Drinking age was eighteen back then," I reminded him. I smiled at Heather. "And I was _very_ good at keeping my story straight. It's just been a long time since I've rehearsed it."

It took another fifteen minutes before James was finally full. Then, finally, we wandered out of the restaurant and through the casino. "We should stay here a few days," James said. "I mean... we're here already." He glanced first at Jessica, who had no reaction, then at me. "What is there to do in Vegas?"

"Not much when you're not eighteen yet."

Heather rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. I am perfectly capable of keeping myself amused."

"Actually, so am I," James agreed. He grinned. "They have cable in the hotel. And MTV."

Heather snickered. "That's right, James. Come all the way to Vegas to watch cable."

"How are you planning on keeping yourself amused?" Jessica asked Heather, clearly wary of the confidence.

"Well..." Heather grinned. "If I take back that dress that I kept the tags on last night, it'll give me five hundred dollars worth of play money. And there's a mall not far from here."

Jessica turned and stared at me, jaw dropped. "You bought her a five hundred dollar dress?"

I shrugged, smiling.

"Anyways," Heather interrupted as Jessica opened her mouth to say more. "Don't worry about me. I'll be just fine entertaining myself."

"Well, that just leaves the two of us in need of entertainment," I continued, slipping an arm around Jessica in a casual, familiar guidance, resting my hand at the small of her back. I smiled as she gave me a wary look. "And I could probably think of a place or two that you might enjoy."

**1973**

The date on Tuesday had gone well. I had learned my lesson: stay out of the bars and away from the drunks. The Thursday night date had gone well, too. And by Saturday, she was actually beginning to talk to me. It wasn't much, but we had finally made it to the point of covering the things that most people talked about within the first fifteen minutes of a first date.

"So where did you say you were from?" I asked, sipping the glass of cheap white wine as I sat on the stool next to her, watching her absently pull the lever on the penny slot machine. I never would've thought to take her to a casino, but she didn't want to see a show and she'd seen all the sights a hundred times over. We'd wandered aimlessly for an hour or so, laughing at the tourists and mildly amused by a few of them who seemed to be doing very well at the roulette table. Then she'd sat down here.

"I never said where I was from," she replied, taking a drag from her cigarette.

I smiled. "Sorry. That was my roundabout way of asking. Where were you born?"

She chuckled, and pulled the lever again. I had no interest in the slot machine. She didn't look like she did, either. It was just a place to sit, and something to do with her hands while she sat.

"Georgia," she finally answered. "Near Atlanta. I moved here when I was nineteen."

"I used to know a guy who was born in Atlanta," I offered. "He grew up in Chicago though."

"Were you close?"

I grinned. I'd been expecting her to pry. "Not really."

She glanced briefly at me, realized she wasn't going to get any further, and went a different route. "So where are you from?"

"I am from a small town about fifty miles northeast of Paris, France."

"Oh really?" She smiled brightly. "What town?"

"Taillefontaine," I answered confidently. "Why? Have you been?"

If she had, I was prepared.

"No," she replied. "I've never been out of the country."

"Really?" I sipped the wine slowly. Stuff tasted like rubbing alcohol. I resisted the urge to throw it back and be done with it. "You should. There's a lot to see out there."

"Where else have you been?"

I lowered my head. "Actually, my travels have been pretty limited," I said quietly. "I think I told you before, we didn't have a lot of money when I was growing up. There were no interesting family vacations."

"Even to Paris?"

"I've seen Paris only in passing through. And only when I was a small child."

"When did you come to the States?"

"When I was five."

I knew my story well. I'd made sure there were no holes. The look on her face was skeptical, nonetheless. After a moment of debate, I decided to call her on it. "You don't believe me," I smirked.

"No," she admitted. She turned back to the slot machine and pulled the lever one last time. "But that's okay." As she gathered her things, I remained seated, and she leaned down to speak into my ear as she passed me. "I wasn't born in Georgia, either."

**1986**

"So what do I do with it?" Jessica was eyeing the slot machine like it had come from another planet.

I chuckled as I put a few coins into the penny slot machine. "Pull that." I pointed to the lever.

She complied, watched the machine as it lit up, reels spinning, then stopped. She turned to look at me. "That's it?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the bewildered look on her face. "It's not rocket science, Jess." I pulled the chair out for her. "Sit down."

She looked doubtful, but she still complied. "This just seems to be a good way to lose a dollar."

She eyed the machine with suspicion, like she expected it to suddenly do something on its own. I smirked as I sat down next to her and gave a smile and wave to the cigarette girl. She headed right over.

"Well, theoretically, it's also a good way to _win _a dollar. Or two. Or ten. But in any case, it's all about the experience. And on these particular machines, you're only gambling a few pennies at a time."

"The experience? Of losing pennies?"

Clearly she had not been joking about never having gambled. I nodded to the machine with a smile. "Humor me, Jess."

"Okay. What do I have to do?"

A few minutes later, I had her situated with a cigarette and some fruity alcoholic drink in one hand, the handle of the slot machine in the other. She was starting to get the hang of it, and if it wasn't the most exciting thing she'd ever done - in my mind, slot machines were boring as hell - it was still enough to make her smile.

"Oh, hey look! I won! Yes!" The look of sheer determination and excitement wasn't tempered at all by the fact she had won three cents and bet nine. That was the magic of Vegas. To celebrate, she took a large sip of her drink. Then she was spinning the wheel again.

I smiled as I watched her, tipping my head down long enough to light my cigar. She was enjoying it, it was harmless, and it was good to see her smile. Turned toward her in the next seat, I leaned on the machine. "Did you want to go back tonight or tomorrow?"

She looked up at me. "I don't know. I had thought about leaving right away, but I have the time off of work." She hesitated and the sound of clanging bells coming from a few machines down. "Wait. What does it mean when you play nine lines? Is that better than twenty?"

I shrugged. "Costs you nine cents instead of twenty to pull the lever. If you listen to the little old ladies who sit in front of these machines for hours, odds are better on the nine cents."

Her drink was gone and so was her smoke. "Well, who am I to question the wisdom of old ladies?" She hit nine and pulled the arm, and was rewarded with twenty cents. "Wow! Oh, I _like _the bells!"

Still smiling, I watched her quietly for a few moments. "Well, whenever you get tired of this, we can grab dinner. There used to be a little bar in the Golden Nugget. I want to check and see if it's still open. They had good pizza there."

Jess looked at her machine. "I'm up 47 cents. This is getting to rich for my blood. Time to cash out." Her hand hesitated over the button before she decided it was the right one to hit. Then she looked back at me with a smile. "Pizza's on me."

**1973**

"So." I leaned on my hand against the wall as Tamika opened the door to her apartment. "Next week?"

She unlocked the door and cracked it open, then glanced back at me. For a long moment, she just stared. The look in her eyes was unreadable, filled with deep emotion that I couldn't identify. It caught me completely off guard, following the relative aloofness of the evening, and all the evenings before. I'd seen her four times now - or was it five? - and I still felt like I hardly knew her. That wasn't entirely a bad thing. I took comfort in the fact that she didn't know me, either.

"Friday?" I tried again when I received no response. "I've got work earlier in the week." This vacation couldn't last forever.

Finally, she turned fully to face me, putting her back to the door. I watched her carefully as she reached into her purse and pulled out a white envelope. "I believe this belongs to you now," she said softly, eyes lowered.

Her gaze flickered up to me as she held it out. I immediately knew what it was; I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Shit, I'd almost forgotten about that. I didn't take it. I was still watching her face.

"Five dates, right?" she whispered. "That's what she told me."

It was still about the money, for her. And there was no way in hell she'd believe that the money never had a damn thing to do with it. It was entirely possible that this entire charade was her ploy to get me to take that damn envelope and absolve herself of guilt. Finally, I lowered my eyes away from hers. What was I supposed to say to that?

"Take it," she breathed, barely audible. "Please?"

Slowly, reluctantly, I took the unopened envelope from her hand. Alright. She'd won that round fair and square. I held it down at my side as I looked back up at her. A quiet, sad smile was on her lips as she reached up with gentle fingers and touched the side of my face.

"Thank you," she sighed. "I really have had a wonderful time."

That was honest. She _thought _it was about the money. She didn't necessarily _want _it to be.

I didn't move as she leaned in and lightly kissed my lips, barely lingering long enough for me to realize what she was doing. It definitely wasn't long enough or firm enough to allow me a chance to respond. Then she pulled away and pushed the door open, stepping inside.

"Wait."

I caught the door before it closed, moving my hand from the wall to stop it. She looked back at me questioningly, and I studied her expression. "You never answered my question."

"What question?" She seemed confused.

"About Friday."

She rolled her eyes and sighed deeply. "Don't tell me she promised to-"

"Forget about Samantha," I interrupted. "She's not the one asking; I am."

Tamika lowered her head and hesitated for a long moment. Still about the money. Denying that Sam had promised any more of it was pointless. In Tamika's mind, that was as far as it went.

"I'll think about it," she finally answered.

"Can I call you?"

She looked back up, and held my stare for a long moment. But she didn't answer as she stepped back, out of sight, and closed the door softly. I shut my eyes, and dropped my head forward as I heard the lock turn.

Damn it.


	21. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**1973**

The woman in the photograph showed up at the gate with an age-appropriate gentleman at her side. She was probably in her early sixties; he was a few years older. They parted ways at the gate with a casual exchange of kisses on each other's cheeks. I smiled to myself as I watched the man walk away, slipping his wedding ring off of his finger. She did the same as she walked to me. It must be nice to have such an understanding spouse. Of course, if more of my clients had such understanding husbands, it would certainly make me less popular. Vegas was great for a discreet, clandestine affair. But discretion was, in fact, the name of the game. If the discretion was unnecessary, why waste the effort, not to mention the money?

"Miss Rogers?"

"Pauline, please," she corrected, extending a hand to me. I shook it with a smile.

"Templeton Peck. Pleasure to finally meet you in person."

"And you."

We touched cheeks, and I took her suitcase. "How was your flight?"

"Oh, long," she sighed. "Too long."

"Well, I hope you're not too tired. We have dinner reservations for eight o'clock. I hope that's enough time for you to get settled in?"

"I think so."

With a hand resting against the small of her back, I guided her away from the gate, towards the airport exit. "You said in your letter this isn't your first trip to Vegas," I prodded. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to do while you're here?" Her letter had been particularly vague. If I was going to have to keep her entertained for three days, I at least needed to know what kinds of things she liked.

"Oh, I don't know. I enjoy the slot machines."

"Hey! Templeton!"

I paused, and glanced over in the direction of the voice, surprised by the interruption. Mike was waving at me from the bar. I couldn't quite keep the frown from crossing my lips. What the hell? He knew better than that...

"Come here a minute!"

I turned and offered a practiced smile to the woman standing beside me. If it was important enough to violate etiquette, it was probably worth a minute of my time. If I could disengage myself for a few seconds. "I'm sorry. Do you mind? This will just take a second."

"No, go right ahead," she smiled back, gesturing for me to go on.

"I'll be right back."

I kissed her cheek lightly - a brief brush of closed lips on warm skin - and crossed quickly to the bar. Mike was waiting impatiently. "Glad I saw you, man."

"This better be good," I said as I leaned over the counter, resting my weight on my elbows.

"Yeah. Here. Your girlfriend dropped this off for you."

I blinked, startled, as I took the sealed envelope. "My girlfriend?" Which girlfriend would that be? I didn't make a habit of bringing women here. But when I did, they were all "my girlfriend."

"Yeah, that pretty, young thing." Mike smirked as he watched me slit the envelope and pull out a folded note on lined paper. "I really am turning into your mail delivery service, you know that?"

I unfolded the note, hoping it wasn't long. I was well aware of the woman I'd left standing in the wide hallway that led from the front of the airport to the terminal. It was poor etiquette, and horribly unprofessional, to leave her standing there for any length of time.

The note wasn't long. In fact, it was only two words. One of them was "Friday," and the other was a signature: Tamika. I smiled as I refolded the note and slipped it into my pocket. "Thanks, Mike."

He nodded, clearly pleased that his judgment call had been right - it was worth the time. "Anytime, man."

I smiled as I tucked the note into my pocket. Pauline would be leaving on Thursday. Barring any unforeseen complications, Friday night would be just perfect.

**1986**

"You've spent a lot of time here."

I glanced over at Jessica, then back out at the lights of the street below. As the sun slowly set, they were becoming more and more pronounced. This city glittered at night. "What makes you say that?"

She chuckled. "Everywhere we go, you know exactly where everything is. Even the exit doors to get up to the rooftops and how to bypass the fire alarm to do it. You've definitely done this before."

I smiled. No point in denying that. It was obvious enough. "A few times."

"More than a few."

"I was a local." That was nothing I hadn't already disclosed.

"Seems like a fun place to be a local. But awful easy to get in trouble."

"Only if you go looking for trouble."

"So you spent a year and a half in Sin City and _didn't _get in trouble?"

Jess was teasing, keeping the mood light, but she was also interested in know what I'd been doing in Vegas. I could tell by the way she kept pressing. Without thought or effort, I was already running through my options of what I could tell her.

"I wasn't here to have fun."

She tipped her head, smile still in place as she studied me curiously. "What were you here for?"

I gave her a smile in return - one that said without words I had nothing to hide. "To survive anonymously."

"It's a good place to be anonymous. Even for you."

"An exceptionally good place. I stayed off the mob's radar, and never had any problems while I was here. With all the people coming and going, nobody ever remembers a face. In a lot of ways, it was even safer than LA."

"So why did you come back to LA?" She rummaged through her purse for a moment and found her cigarettes. "Not that I mind..."

I looked away. _That_ was a topic I didn't want to think about. The return to LA had not been the least bit pleasant. Vegas, all in all, hadn't been too bad. There was no feeling here; nothing hurt. With few exceptions, I'd been too numb to feel. But going "home" after having sold my soul so many times over... that was a very different story.

"LA was where Hannibal wanted to be."

She was quiet for a long moment. She didn't know Hannibal very well, but she knew where he stood in level of importance for my life. She didn't challenge it. I didn't expect her to.

"Well, thank you for the tour," she finally said. "It's been more fun than I could've imagined."

I looked down again at the street below. "It's a beautiful place if you like lights."

"Or being someone else for a bit."

I studied her curiously for a moment. That was an interesting thing to hear her say. I turned and put my back to the ledge, leaning on my arms as I watched her with interest. "Someone like who?"

She finally lit her smoke and dropped the lighter back in her purse, taking a long drag before answering without looking at me. "Anyone really. Someone anonymous, like you said. No past, no history, no mistakes. Just to pretend for a while."

"So why don't you?"

The look, the tone, the distance in her eyes - it all combined to suggest that what she was describing was more like a fantasy she'd dwelt on for years than a fleeting thought. I knew how to read that tone. But she only laughed off the question.

"My days of pretending are long gone."

I was quiet, watching her, not sure whether it was appropriate or, for that matter, safe to call her bluff. "Depends on what you're pretending and for how long. You still think about it. You could put it into action if you wanted to."

"No thanks. The payout is never worth the cost."

"That depends on what you're sacrificing." I let a slow smile form. "It's the difference between nine pennies when you pull that lever or ninety dollars."

"I don't think I'm the gambling type."

"You liked it with the nine pennies."

"Pennies are safe."

"So only pretend in ways that are safe."

She raised a brow. "Oh, and just how do you do that?"

"Ways that are temporary. People that are temporary." With a smile, I reached out and took her cigarette, pulling on it deeply before handing it back. "Don't fall in love."

"You say that like you can control it."

"All emotions are controllable. It's just a question of whether you control them or somebody else does."

"That's an art I never learned."

"Well, maybe it's time to learn. That way maybe the money - in this case, the emotions - won't burn a hole in your pocket waiting to be spent."

Jess laughed at my analogy as she crushed out her smoke. "I think it's wiser to keep my money and my pretend life safely tucked away."

"What good is wealth if you never put it to use?"

"It's there for a rainy day."

"So you spend life hoping for a rainy day?"

"Doesn't matter if I want a rainy day or not; it will come."

"And then what?" I paused just briefly, watching her eyes, reading the emotion there. "You'll invest it all in something you think is going to get you through that day. And when it's over, start saving again." It wasn't abrasive - wasn't the least bit an insult. That really _was _how she lived her life. And like it or not, "That's a very lonely way to live, Jess."

"No lonelier than yours."

"Except I never _feel _lonely. And you do."

"Ah, of course." She was smiling at me. "I forgot that part. But lonely is still better than hurt, by a lot."

"Depends on how much you're gambling."

"You don't gamble with some things, Face."

"_You_ don't. You lock them away for safekeeping and try to forget that they're there. That's the difference between you and me."

She laughed softly. "Just one of many."

I watched her for a long moment, considering my words carefully before I finally spoke. "I'm not saying you should be like me, Jess. Or even that my ways would work for you. But what I am saying is that I hate hearing you talk about things you think you'll never have when you could have them."

She closed her eyes, bowing her head slightly. "What I want can't be bought with pennies, Face."

She was close enough for me to touch her cheek, and she didn't pull away when I did. The heart of the matter was something I knew I couldn't explain to her. I could read her like a book - every fantasy that came across her eyes, I saw. More than that, I knew exactly what it would take to touch those places she wanted somebody to touch. But more important than either of those was the fact that that "somebody" wasn't me, in any shape or form. She was a friend. A good friend. But she didn't just want the fantasy, the experience. She wanted to gamble every penny she had and win big. She wanted to be loved. And that was the one thing I couldn't do for her.

"Maybe it wouldn't be the way you envision it in the fairy tale, Jess," I said softly. "But at least... experience life."

She put her hand over mine. "I had the fairy tale," she whispered. "Or at least I thought I did. The problem is that there's no happily ever after. And it's not worth the cost."

"Sounds like you bet too much money on the wrong fairy tale."

She squeezed my hand, then pulled away. I let her go. "I'm okay with it, Face. But thanks."

I waited a few seconds as she turned and took a couple of steps. "I think you're wrong, Jess. I think you're a born gambler. You bet it all once, and you lost. But any time you sit down to play again, you end up feeding way more into the asshole of the month than any potential payoff is worth."

She gave a sarcastic snort of laughter. "You sound like you've been talking to James."

"I have been talking to James." No sense in denying that.

She shook her head, smiling. "I have one who wants to drive me nuts and one who wants to run my life."

"I wouldn't go that far. But in any case, what he wants and what I want are very different."

"Oh, trust me, I know that."

I raised a brow, but remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

She sighed. "Please. I've watched James long enough to know when he is planning something. And when it comes to you and I, James has plans."

I gave a slight smile. She wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. "He wants to see you happy. I'd settle for just seeing you smile."

And smile she did. "Well, then, how about you show me some more of your old stomping grounds? Maybe I can learn about roulette."

"Gladly."

I gave her an answering smile and stepped toward her, circling an arm around her waist as I led her back to the stairwell.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

**1973**

Tamika paused at the door, then turned back. "Thank you," she said softly. "Again."

"My pleasure."

It wasn't a lie. I'd lost count of the number of dates - both formal and informal - I'd taken her on in the past few weeks, and I hadn't even made it to first base with her. But I really was enjoying it. No stress, no expectations. The performance came naturally and comfortably; I knew the dating game very well. But it was unusual not to feel as if I was "on stage". It was a surprisingly nice feeling.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, curling around the edge of the door and peeking out at me. Leaning against the frame, I didn't move, only smiled. "Good night, Tamika."

"Good night."

I stood straight, and turned away, but didn't quite make it to the stairs before her voice stopped me. "Would you like to come in?"

I looked back, but she was still inside the apartment, at an angle where I couldn't see her. After a long moment of hesitation, I finally walked back to the door. She was holding the edge of the door, head down but eyes on mine.

"Was that a real invitation?" I asked quietly, with a slight smirk. "Or just to see if I'd accept?"

"_Would _you accept?"

"I might." I leaned again on the doorframe, hands in my pockets. "As long as you don't bring out the whips and chains, because I'm definitely not rested up for that tonight."

She laughed, genuinely, and lowered her eyes. She was still clinging to the door. "No whips," she promised, still smiling as she looked back up. "No chains. Besides, I can't afford you anyways."

I watched her for a moment, evaluating her tone. Was she being sincere? Her posture, the way she was hiding behind the door - in her apartment where it was safe. She was either insecure or trying extra hard to make it look like she was. Neither seemed like her - at least, what I had seen of her so far. That meant this was just one more thing about her I didn't understand. The thought made me smile.

She didn't move. Finally, I took a step forward, pushing the door open in front of me. She stepped back, allowing me to enter. "I'm going to make some tea," she said softly as she closed and locked the door behind me. "Would you like some?"

"Please."

She gestured to the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable."

I watched her disappear into the kitchen before I slipped out of my jacket. I set it over the arm of the couch as I sat down and waited. Several minutes later, she returned with two mugs and handed me one. I reached up with a smile and took it from her hands. "Thank you."

While the water was heating, she'd changed out of the dress and into a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. She'd also washed off her makeup. I was surprised to see her without it, but quickly decided that she was still just as beautiful. I held back the instinct to work it into the conversation, knowing she would peg it immediately for pointless flattery. That much I had learned about her.

I'd never seen her so casual before, and I suddenly felt overdressed. It didn't help that her eyes were locked on me as she sat down, watching me over the top of her mug. To my surprise, I realized I was actually self-conscious. Had she done that on purpose? Probably. She was good at manipulating her surroundings. And she was even better at watching for the reactions. It was all I could do not to give her one.

God, I really wanted a cigarette...

"So what's your real name?"

I looked up, and faked a smile. "My real name?"

"Yes."

She drew her legs up underneath her, huddling in the opposite corner of the sofa. For a long moment, I studied her. I had to remind myself that I had allowed this situation. She hadn't twisted my arm, dragged me in here. And I could - and _would _- leave if at any point I started feeling like anyone other than _me_.

Finally, I turned to face her, putting my back against the armrest. "Actually, Templeton Peck is my real name."

She smirked. "Sure it is."

I raised a brow. "What, you don't believe me?"

"No. I don't."

I chuckled, and glanced down at the warm mug in my hands. "Well, I wish I had something more interesting to tell you. Unfortunately, I don't."

She eyed me skeptically. "Why on earth would you use your real name in a place like this?" she asked, her tone still filled with disbelief. "Especially given your line of work."

I shrugged. "Well, to be perfectly honest, I thought about using something else." There were other reasons - reasons a lot more pressing than my job - that I had weighed in the balance when I'd debated what to do about my name. Ultimately, the scales had tipped in favor of keeping it, but not by much.

"Why didn't you?"

"Why didn't I what?" I glanced back at her, realizing my mind was wandering.

"Use something else."

I smiled, and lowered my eyes, staring down at the mug in my hands. "It's complicated."

"Explain it to me."

I hesitated for a long moment. I suspected that if I simply told her I didn't want to talk about it, she'd leave it alone. But there were worse things that she could've asked, and I knew damn well that the only way to get disclosure out of her was to offer it myself. I considered my words carefully, though, cautious about just how much I was willing to reveal.

"Before I came here, I hadn't gone by my real name in quite a while," I finally said. It was the truth. She didn't need to know how complete or incomplete it was. I took a deep breath, and let it out slow as I looked up at her. "I thought it might help me to regain some of... who I used to be. Back when I used it."

"Has it?"

"In some ways." I watched her, steady gazes locked. She seemed neither shocked nor intrigued. The lack of emotional reaction from her somehow made it easier to keep talking. "There are some things - some... moral convictions, for example - that I'm better off not reviving."

She smiled behind her cup, holding it up in front of her chin. "You sound like you've had quite a life before you came here."

I looked away. She was going somewhere with that. I didn't know where. Safer not to answer.

"I guess that's just fascinating to me," she continued, "seeing as you're supposed to only be nineteen-years-old."

"I'm not nineteen," I answered quietly. Self-disclosure, after all. And it wasn't like I was telling her anything she didn't already know. I glanced back up at her and watched silently as she sipped her tea, studying me.

"What are you, twenty-two?" she asked. "Twenty-three?"

"Twenty-two."

"When is your birthday?"

I laughed. "Why?"

"So I can see if you're lying to me again."

I took a sip of the tea and lowered my head with a smile. "If I was, that wouldn't be the question that determines it. It's easy to change a year and I _can _do simple math." I stayed quiet for a moment, then looked back up at her. "Seven December, 1950."

Near as I could remember, that was the truth. There was only a 1in 365 chance that the day was right. But the year was probably accurate.

She continued to study me, drinking her tea quietly. I wasn't intimidated by her watchful gaze. I was used to being the center of attention, all eyes on me. But she was far more observant of my performance than most. It was a challenge. I spent most of my time with her trying to figure out what the hell she was thinking.

"Why lie?" she finally asked.

"Why not?" I leaned over set the quickly-cooling mug on the coffee table. "The younger I am, the better business is. And I've never had a hard time pulling it off."

"That's pretty sad."

"What is?"

"About business. Does three years really make that big of a difference?"

"Actually, it does seem to. I don't know why."

She eyed me for a moment, not speaking. When she finally did answer, her voice was cold, but she was smiling. "Maybe you should try for sixteen. I'll bet you could rope a few more."

My eyes narrowed a little as I studied her. I was pretty sure that was intended to be an insult. But she'd worded it so carefully that I wasn't entirely sure of her meaning. Stretching my arm along the back of the sofa, I watched her. She didn't flinch, didn't look away.

"You know," I finally started, quietly. "I don't know what preconceived ideas you have about what it is I do..."

Her smile changed to more of a smirk as her eyes darkened slightly. The look in and of itself told me a lot about what kind of preconceived ideas she had.

"But it's not really as pathetic as it sounds."

"I never said it was pathetic."

Of course not. That would have required her to be up front and blatantly honest. Far more fun to imply everything. "You wouldn't be the first person to think it."

She shrugged, still smiling. "If you cared that much about what people think, I can't imagine you'd be doing it."

"I'm not ashamed of it, if that's what you're getting at."

"Of course not. If you were, I figure it would be awfully hard to sleep at night."

"Voice of experience?"

She shrugged. "It's all a matter of perception. Whether you're selling your soul or just your body."

I smirked. "I sell neither."

"Oh?" The challenge was blatant, but mixed with a hint of curiosity.

"I sell fantasies," I explained comfortably. "It's not about sex. It's about the way that people want to feel. Loved, accepted, valued, sexy..."

"But the end result is always the same."

"Usually. Not always. I've had a number of clients who've turned down sex in the end. And a significant number who, when they came out here, weren't looking for sex at all."

"So what did you do? Hold hands and call it good?"

I chuckled. "I told you. It's not about sex."

"Feelings," she repeated. "Right."

"You don't sound convinced."  
>She shrugged. "No, I get it. It's all about people. Reading them, figuring out what they want, being everything for all of them."<p>

She understood very well. It was an abrupt switch from her previous stance. Had she just been playing devil's advocate? With her, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised.

"Are you ever just you?" she asked.

"In any one of a thousand forms, of course."

"But all planned, all played."

"It's all part of the game."

"Your whole life is a game, isn't it?"

I smiled.

"That must be horrible."

"Why?"

"Never able to be appreciated for who you are. Never able to _be _who you are."

"Not really."

"How do you not miss the freedom to just be you?"

"It's only hard if you -" I stopped abruptly as I realized that I was speaking without thinking my words through. I couldn't anticipate the next line. She was lowering my guard. And she was doing it so methodically, so expertly, that I almost wasn't even catching it.

"If you what?" she asked innocently.

I glanced away. I could refuse to answer. Or I could raise the stakes. Either way, this conversation had already gone further than it ever should have. I looked back up at her, studying her unassuming, curious look carefully. This self-disclosure thing was pushing the limits of how far I was willing to go. Maybe it was time to ask for something in return. In the most pleasant and innocently-worded way, of course.

"If you know yourself well enough to miss it," I finally answered.

"It must be even more horrible not to know yourself."

"It has its good points and its bad points."

"Such as?"

"What is it you do for a living, Tamika?"

The abrupt change in topic caught her off guard. She stared at me for a long moment, saying nothing, then finally shook her head as if to clear it. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you're very good at this." I smiled as I looked at her pointedly. "And usually that's the line that people tell me."

She looked away, eyes lowering. I kept my gaze steady on her, watching for any indication that I'd pushed too far too fast and shut her down. That wasn't the goal here. I just needed to level the playing field. She was getting too comfortable, feeling like she was holding all of the cards.

"You see a lot," I continued quietly. "Read people very well. Figure out what they want. What they want to hear. Give it to them with minimal self-disclosure to get your desired response. You've been doing it with me from word one. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"What response do you think I'm desiring?" She cast a quick glance at me, but didn't hold my gaze.

"Right now? You want to get into my head. Though I'm not exactly sure why. You don't regard me as a threat or you wouldn't be sitting here talking to me. You don't consider me a friend or you wouldn't have such a problem with _mutual _self-disclosure. You want to get into my head, but you won't let me in yours. And you are very good. Even just to get as far as you have."

"I find you interesting." She shrugged.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were regarding me as a client. So should I be paying you for these past few dates? Or should I wait until we sleep together?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched. But the shocked and angry reaction that would've come if I was wrong did not manifest. I wasn't wrong. My instincts were dead on. She played this game like a pro because she _was _a pro. She knew how to lower my guard because she _had _to be good at it; it was easier to please a client who wasn't defensive, who opened up and let you in. I couldn't tell how honest she'd been to this point, and that meant I couldn't tell what kind of a clientele base she had - if it was legitimate or illegal, high class or hooker. But one thing was for damn sure, she worked the sex industry. And I could tell from her reaction that I wasn't supposed to know that.

I smiled faintly. "You underestimated me, Mika," I said softly, gently. "Both to think that I wouldn't figure it out and to think that I wouldn't understand."

Head turned away, she closed her eyes for a long moment before looking back up and staring at me straight on. "I don't talk about that," she finally whispered.

I stared back at her, waiting for her to either say more or look away. But she did neither. It was almost a glare, daring me to disrespect the boundary she'd just set. I waited for that look to fade, the flicker of anger to dissipate. I didn't blame her for it. I'd probably be angry too, if the tables had turned so fast on me. But like a true professional, she let it fade away just as quickly, a passive and emotionless look staring back at me.

At least now we had an understanding.

I lowered my gaze, and felt the tension in the room ease away. I was sort of surprised that she hadn't shut down on me, told me to get out and stay out in no uncertain terms. I was only here because we both wanted me here. And if all she'd wanted was to poke and prod at my past and my emotions, she at least knew now that it wasn't going to happen. The game was over and we were deadlocked. But at least we'd cleared the air.

"Does Samantha know?" I asked quietly, unassumingly. I glanced up at her, not sure I expected an answer. I'd gauge the answer by her reaction if I had to.

"No," she whispered back, head lowered. "And I don't want her to."

"I wouldn't tell her," I breathed. "It's none of my business."

"You'd better not," she said firmly, looking up at me again. Her eyes blazed as she glared at me. "Because you're damn right it's none of your business."

I nodded slowly, and finally, I stood. "I should go."

"Yes," she said softly, looking away. "You should."

I didn't say a word as I took the mug to the sink, then slipped back into my jacket. "I'll give you a call later this weekend," I said casually.

She didn't answer, didn't even look up as I stepped out through the front door and closed it behind me.


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**Sorry for the delay in posting, guys! On vacation so I'm a bit slow right now. :)**

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

**1973**

It had taken several weeks for the tension to completely blow over with Tamika. Avoidance had turned to cautious communication, and caution had ultimately turned to acceptance. That seemed to surprise her. One thing was for damn sure: she was not half as comfortable about her job as I was about mine. I still didn't know exactly what that job of hers entailed, but it seemed unlikely that she worked the streets and her schedule wasn't regular enough to be managed by a company. My guess was that she had a client list. But there was no way to find out what kinds of clients she entertained without violating her set boundaries. And I wasn't about to do that. Our conversation was limited to safer topics. But at least there was conversation now.

"Tell me about Samantha," I asked, picking at the remains of the Chinese takeout on her dining room table.

"What about her?"

I paused. That wasn't a no. But I knew I'd better choose my question carefully. "How'd you two meet?"

"You first." She didn't look up.

"She was a client of a friend of mine. Steve."

"Steve Adams?"

"You know him?" Why was I surprised by that?

"Heh." She reached for her glass of water and paused long enough to take a sip. "Everybody knows Steve."

Still no eye contact. And not "everybody" knew Steve - just the people who used him as a resource. He stayed too busy - and too high - to make many friends outside of "work". But that was a discussion for another time. It was a rabbit trail, and I really was interested in hearing the answer to my original question.

I gave her a moment, to see if she'd offer more on her own. But when she didn't, I continued. "Steve needed a second. Sam and I hit it off."

"And he was okay with losing a well-paying client to you?" The accusation was clear in her voice.

I leaned back comfortably in my chair. "For all of the clients I've sent his way, he could afford to lose her. Besides, he owed me a favor."

She glanced up, studying me carefully. "Does that happen often?"

"What? That I'm owed favors?"

"Have you gotten other clients from him?"

"One, besides Samantha." I paused for a drink, buying a few seconds to choose my words carefully. "Most of his clients would never think to pay me ten times what they pay him when I won't do half of what he does in bed. If they're coming for sex, they can find it a lot cheaper than with me."

"I'm surprised that any would consider it."

He shrugged. "Just depends on what they're looking for."

"And you didn't think Sam was just looking for sex?"

I hesitated at the odd question. How was I supposed to answer that? I couldn't follow her train of thought, but I had to keep talking if I wanted her answer. "If all Sam wanted was sex, she wouldn't need to look further than a local bar in San Francisco."

Tamika shrugged. "Well, it made sense when she was with Steve. He's very good at what he does and finding someone in a local bar willing and able to play those sorts of games is... dangerous."

I didn't answer, just watched her. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say to that. Staring over the table at me, she held her chin in her hand. When she didn't get a response, she continued. "I can't quite figure out what she gets out of two thousand dollars a night. You're not _that _cute, Templeton."

I smiled. "I've told you. It's not about sex."

"With her? Everything is about sex."

"It's about what she gets out of sex."

"And what is that?"  
>I tipped my head slightly, not half as startled by the question as I was confused. "Why are you so curious?" I asked. "She's your friend; you want to know what she gets out of sex with me, why don't you ask her?"<p>

Tamika looked away. "Because we don't have that kind of relationship."

"But you have that kind of relationship with me?"

"You're a professional. She's not."

"Well, strictly speaking, the professional thing to do is not to discuss her at all. Though if you'd like to psychoanalyze her sex life, as I recall, she did _invite _you in on it once. You turned it down in no uncertain terms."

Tamika fell silent. From the lengthy pause, I knew she was ready to let it lie. Thank God. I could never figure out what she was trying to get at when she started prodding like that. And maybe more importantly, that meant it was her turn to talk.

Finally, she took a deep breath. "Samantha..." It was as far as she got before she cleared her throat and shook her head. She was quiet for a few seconds more, then tried again. "Samantha's father... killed my brother in a car accident."

She looked up, searching for a reaction. I was very careful to give none. A reaction could prompt a response and take her off on a tangent. And I wanted to hear this story. I'd been waiting a long time for it.

"He was all that I had. He'd just turned eighteen when my mother died. And he took care of me. When he was gone, there was no one."

She shifted uncomfortably, diverting her gaze to the floor. "Samantha... She found out about me when her father went to court. He pled out, went to jail for a little while. But she came to see me every day in the orphanage. Her mother would drive her. I remember wondering the whole time if it was her idea or her mom's."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve." She breathed deeply, and let it out slow. "Sam... She's always felt the need to try and..." She shook her head, eyes closed. "I wasn't exaggerating when I said it was penance. But we just... we have nothing in common. She has no idea what real life is like."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she grew up comfortably. Got bored and married a millionaire. Now she entertains herself with money." Tamika looked up, catching my gaze briefly. "She wants to buy happiness. She wants to buy it for me. She doesn't understand that it doesn't work that way."

"For some people, it does."

Tamika sighed. "When I told her what I'm looking for is a real relationship, someone who cares, she bought you." She glanced up with a sad smile. "For me."

This time, I was the one to look away.

"That was why I wanted to apologize. That first night, that wasn't your fault. You just got caught in the middle of it. It was really between me and her."

"I don't think," I started hesitantly, "that she realizes she's... insulting you."

She shook her head. "Oh, I know she doesn't. She just doesn't understand what I want or why I want it and she can't figure out why she can't just buy it for me. It works for her. _You _work for her. You make her feel wanted and appreciated and I'm sure the sex is great. But that's not what I want. You can't buy what I want. And she doesn't understand that."

She was finished. She stood without another word, gathered the dishes, and took them to the sink. I watched her clear the table silently, then stood and followed her into the kitchen. "I'm sorry," I finally offered, leaning against the doorway.

"For what?" she asked, not looking up as she ran water in the sink to wash the dishes.

"Well," I lowered my head, pausing for a moment, "I didn't exactly understand either. You won't get an apology from her but... you at least deserve it from me."

She looked back at me, over her shoulder, and offered a quiet smile. "Apology accepted."

I smiled back.

**1986**

It was almost three in the morning, and I wasn't asleep. Jessica had fallen asleep mid-sentence, and I hadn't moved her. She was lying with her head on my shoulder, curled up beside me. I sighed as I brushed her hair back gently, and turned to look out of the open window. I spent a long moment staring up at the lights in the sky, then finally withdrew, carefully, from under Jessica. She didn't stir. Her cigarettes were on the dresser, next to the bottle of vodka. I poured a plastic cup full of the clear liquor and took it with me as I slipped out of the room.

I knew my way around this building with my eyes closed. I knew which stairwells led to where, and all the escape routes. And I knew how to get to the rooftop through the locked doors. They'd equipped them now with deadbolts, and I was glad I'd grabbed my jacket on the way out. Otherwise, I would've had to go back for my lock picks.

The air outside was cool - not a trace of humidity in the desert. I closed the door behind me carefully and walked the perimeter of the tower, looking out in all directions before I finally settled facing north. Setting the cup on the ledge, I took a moment to light the cigarette before I put the pack on the ledge too. Staring out at the lights in the distance, I let my mind wander. Fremont Street was glittering, and the lights from here to there flickered in the night. The sparkling City of Sin. I sighed as I reached for the cup and took a sip of vodka.

A few, quiet minutes of staring out into the darkness, smoking quietly, and I turned and sat down against the ledge, putting my head back against it. There was no moon, but the city lights cast a glow over everything. Deep shadows surrounded me as I took a slow drag from the cigarette, and exhaled slowly. With half-focused eyes, I stared at the glowing embers for a long moment. This was the third cigarette I'd had in two days. I needed to knock it off.

With a sigh, I turned and put it out against the brick, and dropped it. I didn't need another habit. Especially not one that had been so damn hard to break the first time around. I shut my eyes as I let one hand rest on my bent knee, the other loosely holding the plastic cup of clear liquor. I was tired, and I couldn't sleep. My mind was racing, almost by default from being in this place. I knew these hallways, these slot machines, these casino bars. I knew the carpet, the walls, the layout of every room. I knew the housekeepers, the hotel clerks, and the bartenders. They were different people now, so many years later. But they were all still the same.

I didn't want to think about Vegas. I didn't even want to be in Vegas. I'd come here before, since leaving in 73. And I'd been more than happy to leave without spending a single night. I could pretend well enough that this place didn't bother me. But way down deep inside where Jessica and her children were not allowed to see, I felt like I was bleeding internally.

The memories themselves were long buried. Fresh, for their proximity now, but still I mostly managed to remain disconnected from them. That was so long ago, and I understood the world so differently then. Scarred from war and beaten to hell, I had none of the coping mechanisms in place that I clung to now. And no support structure - nowhere to turn and no one to lean on.

I had all that in place now. Aside from the singular nightmare that had once again receded into the far corners of my mind, I was not intimidated by the memories I was confronted with here; they weren't frightening. They were just... exhausting. And above all else, they were lonely. It was a time in my life that was all mine to bear. In those memories, I was alone. And though the people were long gone, their voices seemed to echo in these empty halls.

I sighed. This was getting a bit too poetic and melodramatic for my taste. Bottom line, it was a long time ago. And bottom line, the time and distance didn't make it that much easier in the end. I was stressed. And the near-constant wave of pheromones from Jessica wasn't helping matters much. That was another headache I didn't want to think about.

I took another sip of vodka, and put my head back again. My hand was drifting, up and down the inside of my thigh. I noticed it, considered it briefly, and didn't stop. It felt good. I sighed as I shut my eyes again. There was a very simple, natural solution to this stress issue. The problem was, bedding Jessica would only amplify my problems with her a thousand times over. Finding another willing partner was not difficult, as last night's trip down to the casino had proven. But it was only a sure bet if I was willing to put a certain amount of time and effort into it that I was not prepared to invest. And damned if I was going to pay for sex in Las Vegas. I'd sooner die.

There were sounds from the street below, but they were a thousand miles away. I needed to sleep, but the very thought of sleep seemed even further. Willing the muscles in my shoulders to unclench, I raised one hand to rub at them as the other moved slowly, further up the inside of my thigh. This place brought back a lot of memories. Somewhere, buried underneath all of the loneliness and usury, were one or two that I couldn't help but find genuinely erotic, even now...

**1973**

"Why is Mika avoiding me?"

I sat down on the bed with my back against the headboard and tipped the phone up so she wouldn't hear the yawn. "No idea, Sam," I answered as I tipped it back down. "Why are you asking me?"

"I need to talk to her. I've got a few days off and I was going to come out."

"Few days off?" I chuckled. "Have you been saving up your vacation days at work?"

"Oh, fuck you."

I smiled. There was no venom in her tone - just playful jesting.

"You want me to pick you up from the airport? When are you coming in?"

"This weekend. Just Saturday to Monday. Roger comes home Monday evening."

"Should I pick you up?"

"No, I can make it. Are you still at Circus?"

"Yes." I hesitated for a moment. "Why? Are you coming to me this time?"

"Unless you have a problem with it."

I had to consider that for a minute.

"I see no reason to get a separate room if you've already paid for one. Unless of course I'd be crouching in on your personal space."

My room at any given moment was a glorified storage unit. It held my clothes and a few miscellaneous items. "I don't think it'll be a problem."

"Fine. I'll see you in a few days. And tell Mika I'm coming, will you?"

"If I see her."

Chances were good that I would neither see her nor warn her. If she was avoiding Sam, I was staying the hell out of it. It was far safer that way.

**1986**

I was aware of the presence behind me the second the door opened. The rush of "just got caught" adrenaline was ignored. I wasn't supposed to be up here, but I wasn't nearly in the same vulnerable position I'd been in a few minutes ago. I was safe, and relaxed - my mind a wash of calm clarity. The best thing to do, if it was security, was play dumb. Of course I didn't pick the lock to get up to the roof. The door was just open. Was I not supposed to be up here? But it was so beautiful. The lines came all at once and then calmed back down as I finished my cigarette - the one I'd said I wasn't going to have, but really deserved - and glanced over my shoulder as the footsteps approached.

It was a good thing I'd been steeled for anything, because I certainly hadn't been expecting to see Heather, approaching slowly with a drink of some kind in her hand.

"Mind company?"

"How did you get up here?" I asked, dropping the cigarette and crushing it out.

"You left the door open."

"Let me rephrase. How did you know I was up here?"

She smirked slightly. "Figure it out, Sherlock."

It wasn't as confrontational as the words themselves suggested. There was really only one logical answer; she had followed me. Besides that, it would've taken quite the stroke of blind luck for her to end up checking that door at the same time that I'd opened it and was up here. Of course, if she'd followed me, why had it taken her so long to make her appearance?

I turned away from her, looking out again at the city, but didn't speak. I didn't really care why or how she was here. It didn't matter. Worst case scenario, she knew what I'd been doing up here. And I didn't particularly care one way or another if she did. Any bashfulness for all things sex had long ago been worked out of me.

My mind went back to wandering, and I didn't stop it. Lazily, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was staring out at the view, sipping something red and fruity. A daiquiri, most likely. She wanted so much to show me - everyone, really - how worldly and hard she was, but she still liked what amounted to a slushy. I smiled to myself at that.

With a move that was practiced but still too new to come naturally, she pulled a smoke out of her small purse and held it between her fingers for a second, then she flashed what was her best 'worldly wise' smile. "Nice town."

She was waiting for me to light that cigarette. I humored her. But for the first time in a long time, I hesitated. She was intruding here. We both knew she knew that.

"You like coming back? Reliving the fun and excitement of your wild days? Carefree fucking and fun?"

"That was never where my interests lie."

I slipped the lighter back into my pocket and waited for her to take a long drag before responding. "Where did your interests lie?"

I didn't answer that.

"No, wait. Let me guess. You came for the _money_."

There was complete confidence in her body language and voice, but she was holding something back. She wasn't sure about that guess.

"Nothing like coming to Vegas for a quick buck. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Is that why you came?"

It was almost casual but for the direct, pointed look straight at her. She picked up on it, and shot a brief glare back at me before she rolled her eyes. "Spare me. Like you give a fuck why I came."

I shrugged and turned to lean back against the ledge. "Only if you intend to do it again."

"Right, it's got to be a damn nuisance to have Jessica banging on your door for help."

I sighed, wondering in the back of my mind if Jess would be offended to be called by her first name by her daughter.

"A real buzz kill on the playboy image when a semi-hysterical soccer mom is pleading for you to help with her kids."

"She didn't have to plead. All she had to do was mention you were missing with the jackass I'd already met. Which was - I might add - my own assessment, not hers."

"Well, we both knew she sucks in her 'assessment' of men."

"Hate to tell you this, but you're not doing much better."

She tapped her ashes and then waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever. And anyway, I'm not about to run off with anyone. Next time I go anywhere it will be on my own fucking terms. Love is for fucking morons."

I grinned. "You're a little young to be saying that."

"I'm a quick learner. Unlike Jessica."

I watched her for a moment, then looked away as I shook my head, putting my hands in my pockets. "Look, if you've got a problem with your mother, you take it up with her," I said simply. "I don't want to hear it."

"Shocking." She took another sip of her drink and smirked. "So what _do_ you want to hear?"

"You were the one who came looking for me, not the other way around."

"Ah, nicely avoided." She smiled at me, then crushed out her smoke. "I already heard what I wanted to know."

Without another word, she smiled and gave a little wave. Then she turned away, heading for the door.


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

**1973**

The knock came at the door at three in the afternoon. I didn't have to guess who it was; even her knock seemed to resonate with excess energy and zest. The fact that Sam was meeting me at my room meant that we would most likely never leave it. But just in case, I'd dressed casually in slacks and a button down shirt. I couldn't help but wonder how long it would take her to get them off. Three minutes, maybe.

Firmly ingrained habit had me checking through the peep hole even though I already knew who it was. I was glad I did. The sight on the other side of the door made me smile. Out in the hallway in a leather miniskirt and a half shirt - no bags, only an oversized purse - Sam had struck a pose against the wall on the opposite side of the hall. Her arms were above her head as she leaned back in a provocative stance, smiling at the door. She knew I'd look first. And she certainly gave me something to look at. God, she was fun. She irritated the hell out of me sometimes, but she was such a pleasant switch from my usual clientele.

"Who is it?" I asked innocently, just so I could hear what her reply would be.

She laughed. Actually, it was probably more accurately described as a loud, flirty giggle. Smiling at me through the door, she slid her back down the wall a little, letting the skirt ride even higher. "Open the door before I blow your house down."

Smiling, I unhooked the chain and opened the door halfway. I leaned on it as I eyed her up and down, slowly taking in the full effect. She was putting on a show for, and I was more than happy to show my appreciation of her effort. She really was gorgeous - in leather and lace, garter straps extending well below the bottom of the skirt before they hooked the top of the black, lace-top stockings.

"Sam," I greeted quietly, the low bedroom voice echoing the raw sexual attraction that I genuinely felt. "It's a pleasure to see you."

She smiled, and pushed off the wall, arching her back a little more than strictly necessary. She moved on those stiletto heels with the ease of a stripper, not hesitating in the least. Two slow, sure steps to get to me, and she slid a hand into my hair as she pulled my head closer. I relaxed into her hard kiss, opening my mouth as I felt her tongue demand entrance. Her kiss was an open display of dominance, and I didn't resist. I wrapped my arms around her as I backed into the room and she kicked the door shut behind her.

She was warm and alive, full of confidence and demanding what, at the moment, I was more than willing to give. She dropped her purse on the floor and found my wrists as she backed me up against the wall. There was a thrill of enjoyment as my back pressed against it. She was like bottled lightning - exciting just to be around. Her lust for everything was contagious.

And I hadn't had good sex since the last time I'd been with her.

She put my hands on her waist, wrapped one leg up and around mine, and leaned back as she pulled away from the kiss, baring her neck. I had to adjust my stance as the center of gravity shifted. With her leg locked around me, she pretty much supported her own weight. But she'd pull us both over if she leaned much further. Not that I wasn't enjoying the view. Her breasts strained against the half shirt, her stomach smooth and tight and throat bare.

I slid one arm behind her back and used the other to move up firmly from her stomach, under the shirt, and over her breast. Pulling her up again, I pushed the shirt up and drew her breast to my mouth - teeth and tongue and suction on her nipple. It made her moan, and made me smile.

She held my shoulder with one hand and the back of my head with the other. She knew what she wanted; all I had to do was give it to her. She pushed my head back and claimed my lips again with hers. "Miss me?" she asked darkly as she pulled away, lips still brushing mine as she spoke.

"Yes," I answered smoothly, turning my head to allow her access to my neck as her head dropped to my shoulder. "Very much."

"Liar." She smirked at me as she pulled back and caught my eye. Burying both hands in my hair, she raked my scalp lightly with her nails. "But I've missed you..."

She didn't give me a chance to respond before she reached one hand down between us, rubbing my hardening shaft through the slacks. I couldn't - nor did I want to - contain the moan that escaped as I closed my eyes and tilted my head back against the wall.

"Aww..." Her tone was teasing, almost patronizing. "You sound like you haven't gotten laid almost as long as me. And I _know _that's not true."

She lowered her leg back down to the floor, and with one hand still in my hair turned until she was leaning back against me. She guided my head down to the side of her neck as she rubbed, almost thrusting, against my groin. I groaned involuntarily.

"I've had plenty of sex." I worked down her neck, relishing the feel of her hand in my hair, her firm guidance. It let me focus on her and the sensations she was creating, not what she wanted from me. "But there's only one you, Sam."

"Mmm... that's a good line." I could hear her seductive smile; it saturated her tone.

"Thanks."

She arched back, craning her neck so that she could press her lips to my ear. "Now shut up and fuck me."

"Gladly."

I grabbed her slim hips and turned, slamming her against the wall. She pushed back, bending at the waist, legs apart. There was no need or time for words as I undid my belt and zipper and pushed up the tiny scrap of leather that was masquerading as her skirt. Garter belt and straps. No fabric, just her - wet and hot.

I held her hips as I slid into her in one firm, long thrust. She gave a loud gasp/moan, clamping down tight around me the moment he was inside. Her muscles were like a vise, almost startling for how hard they gripped me. She couldn't have held on tighter if she'd used her hand, and it certainly couldn't have felt as good. "Fucking hell, Sam..."

She ground on me, pressing back, moving me inside of her to all those places that made her gasp and whimper and writhe. She was hot, wet, and keyed to perfection. She'd probably been thinking about this non-stop since she'd gotten off the phone with me if her responsiveness was any indication.

"Harder. Now!"

My groan mixed with hers as I lost myself in sensation - heat, wetness, friction, combined with the feel of her. The smooth skin of her ass, pushing back against me, the way her inner muscles gripped me, trying to draw me deeper. There was something about her - the way she acted, her frankness, her sensuality - that my body responded to instinctually. She knew exactly what she wanted, exactly what she expected. And her confidence made her that much more enticing.

It didn't take her long. I felt her tighten, heard her keen as she came, and smiled. It wasn't much, but from the shudder of pleasure and the way she slowed, I knew she'd hit her peak. Her head dropped forward against the wall as she took just a few seconds to catch her breath. Still hard inside of her, I let her collect herself as I slowed my pace, backing off to hold my own climax at arm's length. One thing I knew for sure: with Sam, the first orgasm was just the warm up.

My hands ran up her sides as I bent forward, resting my chest against her back, but careful not to add any additional weight to her. Kissing the back of her neck, I spoke softly in her ear, "Welcome back to Vegas, Sam."

With a laugh and a moan, she withdrew slowly and turned to face me. She put her weight back on the wall as she draped her arms over my shoulders, tipped her head back, and yelled at the ceiling, "I _love_ Las Vegas!"

I let my laughter join hers as she leaned forward, falling into me, hanging on my neck.

**1986**

Pop music was blaring from the speakers hidden in the landscaping, but the pool area was otherwise remarkably quiet. Most of the lounge chairs that had been pulled off the stacks were empty. Not many people chose to brave the midday sun and 105 degrees to lounge by the pool - even if it was a dry heat.

I hadn't laid out at a public pool in years. I preferred the privacy of a pool behind a "rented" Beverly Hills home or even a beachfront property. A few times, when I knew I was distinctly lacking sunlight, I'd found the rooftop of whatever apartment complex I was living at. It wasn't pretty, but it was private. I liked privacy.

Not that I was self-conscious; I wasn't. I didn't at all mind being on display. Nor did I mind the view of the barely-clad girls parading around. But pools were too often fenced in and wide open and very public. The fact that I'd avoided that combination for so long was probably a huge part of the reason I was not yet in prison.

But no one had any reason to suspect I was in Vegas right now. And I didn't feel threatened. Lying in the sun, on my stomach with my arms under his head, I soaked the sun quietly. The warm, almost burning sensation on my skin was one I would never get tired of.

Eyes open, I was watching the entrance from the building when Heather stepped out of the elevator. Our eyes locked almost immediately, and I shut mine lazily. I knew she'd come over. I didn't have to watch her approach.

"Hey, Face."

"Decided to brave the heat?" I asked, eyes still closed.

"I need sun," she said firmly. "My job is so interfering with my tanning schedule."

I smiled faintly, and opened one eye as she stripped her shirt and shorts to reveal the bikini underneath. A good deal of practice in similar situations kept me from doing a double take. She made a show of it - probably for the guys across the way, if I had to guess - and I couldn't help but raise a brow.

The fact that she was preening was neither surprising nor concerning. What she was wearing under those clothes she so sensually stripped off was... interesting to say the least. She was the most tempting jail bait I'd seen in a long time. Not that I had any interest in her whatsoever, but I was well aware of the thoughts that were inevitably and involuntarily crossing the minds of every man in the pool area.

"Your mother lets you out of the house like that?" I kept my tone light.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Fucking spare me." The words were sarcastic, but her tone was almost jovial - at least as jovial as sixteen-year-old girls got around adults. "I'm sixteen now, Face. I almost got married. I'm totally not a kid anymore and no way does Mom have a say what I wear."

I turned onto my back, arms under my head, eyes still closed. "I forgot. Sixteen. You're ready to rule the world." I shielded my eyes from the sun as I glanced at her with a smirk. "My mistake."

She turned her head just enough to see me but keep an eye on any potential action at the pool. "That's okay," she said coolly. "I'm sure it's not the first mistake you've made today."

I laughed. "That time of the month, honey?"

"Oh, fuck you." Her smirk didn't match the offended - and offensive - words. "Besides," she stretched, and let out a satisfied sigh as she settled in a pose to show off all her best assets, "I look damn good and you know it."

It was pointless to argue that.

There was a man working his way through the pool area. She regarded him with calm disinterest. He was at least thirty. Still, she arched her back just a bit before she continued. "So. Face. A bartender."

"Mmm hmm." I dropped my hand, but kept my head turned towards her as I relaxed again.

"No way I'm buying that, you know."

"Mmm."

She laughed out right at the non reply. "That's it? Mmm?"

I smiled, but didn't answer, or look at her.

"Wow, Face. Not often that you're at a loss for words."

I yawned.

"You know, you're probably the only adult I knew the whole time I was growing up that I didn't feel like would lie or bullshit me."

Oddly enough, James had said the exact same thing to me on more than one occasion. Funny to be the one who _wouldn't _lie and bullshit people.

"So what's so bad about your time in Las Vegas that you tried to lie about it?"

I kept my eyes shut, calm and unthreatened, just enjoying the sun. "Your mother doesn't make a habit of lying and bullshitting to you. It's against her nature."

Heather's reply was a decidedly unladylike snort. "She doesn't do it often cause she totally sucks at it."

She was quiet for a moment. I let her wander down the rabbit trail a ways, knowing she'd come back on her own. It wasn't an interesting enough trail to distract her.

"And you totally didn't answer the fucking question." It was actually a shorter pause than I'd expected.

"What question?"

She laughed again. "If you don't want to tell me, I could try to guess."

I shrugged. "Guess to your heart's content. I've already said everything I'm going to say on the subject."

"Hmm..."

I opened my eyes, and shielded them as I looked around for the woman I knew was wandering out here with drinks and cigarettes. I didn't see her. She must be on the other side.

"What would bother Face so much he would refuse to talk about it?" Heather teased. "James thinks you might have been involved with the Mob, but he can be such a child about these things."

"I wasn't involved with the mob," I said simply.

"I didn't figure you were. By the way, Face, it's pretty fucking sad when even James doesn't buy your bullshit."

The pool maid wandered into view and I pushed myself up, waving to her. She headed over immediately. "Hi," I greeted her with a smile. "How are you?"

She returned the smile. "I'm fine. What can I get you?"

Right to the chase. There was no point in flirting with her. "Can I just get a coke, please?"

"Sure. And anything for you, miss?"

"I'll have a strawberry daiquiri and a pack of marb reds, please?"

The maid didn't even think to ask her for an ID. Whether that was because the "smile and be polite" experiment worked or because of the much older - note, responsible - man who was sitting with her, it wasn't clear. She walked away and I gave Heather a lingering look. She was smug - both for getting what she wanted and for pulling one over on someone. She tilted her head back and smiled at the sun.

"So there's drugs," she brainstormed. I shut my eyes again. "But you don't seem like the total burnouts that do heavy drugs. Besides, you totally have to be in control so using is totally fucking out of the picture. 'Course you could've been a pusher, but who walks away from that?"

I was quiet for a moment, letting her talk until she was done. Relaxed and unaffected, I was very conscious of her eyes on me - the fact that she was watching every reaction. If she was trying to get a rise out of me, she was failing miserably.

Time to give her another rabbit trail. "I never did or sold drugs here in Vegas."

She was quiet for a moment. I opened one eye to see the surprise on her face. She'd picked up on the cue, just the way I'd known she would. Too many qualifications in that statement. But she didn't take the bait. After a long pause, she wiped the surprise off her face and smirked. "Well, then, that leaves sex and rock and roll."

I yawned again.

"So what were you? Owned a sex shop? Male gigolo? Porn star?" She laughed at her own joke. "No, wait, you would've been the producer, right?"

I smiled comfortably, not flinching in the slightest. "Or I could've been bartending, just like I told you."

I looked up as the pool maid walked into view and handed our drinks. Smiling, I gestured to Heather when the woman's eyes lingered on me. "She's paying," I said coolly.

I watched out of the corner of my eye to see how she handled the challenge. She didn't even flinch. "Of course."

She took the bill and signed it. She spoke for my benefit, billing the charges to my room and adding a twenty dollar tip. I smirked. Nicely handled.

I sipped my drink, then set it on the table between his lounge and hers. I sat up and reached down to where my wallet and shoes and sunblock were all on the ground and found a lighter in the pile as well, holding it out for her cigarette. It was ready for her by the time she had a cigarette out, and she stared at it for a long moment before she finally leaned into it.

"Thank you."

I didn't answer, just clinked the lighter closed and dropped it again.

"So, it _was _sex," she exhaled, glancing at me again. "Which was the closest to the truth?" She raised an eyebrow and waited for my answer with a smile.

"I never said anything about sex. But you can think that if you'd like." I grabbed her cigarettes off the table and withdrew one for myself, lighting it before I dropped the lighter back into the pile beside the lounge chair. I remembered clearly my resolve from the night before - I really shouldn't be indulging in the cigarettes. But something about this place just made me crave them, and I needed to focus my attention on Heather's prying right now.

I breathed in, and reached back to pull the chair so that I could sit upright. "Just please don't go running your mouth off about it or your mother's going to _really_ start wondering what the hell I've been telling you and why." I glanced up at Heather and gave her a full smile as I relaxed back. "Especially since she _does _know what I did in Vegas."

She was staring at me. It took her a long moment to wipe the shocked look off her face. "Please," she finally answered, her voice dripping sarcasm. "You can so handle Mom. And you're not even fucking her yet."

"Don't think so?"

"Ugh, never mind. That's a picture I don't want in my head."

I chuckled.

She took a drag before continuing. "Your not answering means I'm right and you were involved in the sex game. The fact that you don't want me to tell mom means you haven't told her, or she doesn't really get it. So are you going to tell me exactly what you did, or do I get to figure that out all by my fucking lonesome?" She smirked and tapped her ashes.

I smiled, and finished my drink, but took the cigarette as I stood and slipped my feet into my sandals. "You're reading too much into it."

It took me only a second to gather my stuff from the pile on the ground. Then I turned and walked a few steps away from her.

"Aw, come on, Face, don't be chicken shit. Come on back. I'll go easy on you."

I paused mid-step and turned back with a grin. "By the way, you missed your line. You could've trapped me."

Her eyes widened noticeably, and I gave her a full smile and a wink as she stared at me, dumbfounded. "Think about it."

Without another word, I turned and headed back to the elevator into the hotel. She'd be thinking about that for the rest of the night. So much for the boys at the pool.


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

**1973**

Samantha was worth watching as she stripped her short cutoffs down her legs, bending at the waist. She tossed them at me, and I caught them just as they hit my chest.

"You coming?" she asked as she headed for the pool. Her voice dripped with seduction.

I dropped her shorts on the cement beside the lounge chair and sipped from the bottle of water. "Was that an invitation or an order, hon?"

"Which would be more effective?"

She sashayed her hips a little more than strictly necessary as she walked to the pool's edge. I licked my lips as I let my eyes run over her. She might as well have been naked for all the bikini hid. And she was fucking gorgeous.

The much older man lying in the lounge chair on my left chuckled. "Take it from me, son, that's an order."

I smiled back. "Yeah, I figured as much."

I stood and stretched, well aware of the fact that there were at least three women in the area who were watching me intently. I held the pose for a moment before following her to the edge of the pool, feet burning on the pavement. Once I touched the first step leading down into the water, the stinging went away. The temperature was a shock, but it felt good.

I took the two steps down slowly, then dove just under the surface of the water, letting it soothe away the heat. Reemerging closer to the center of the pool, I shook my hair out and looked around for Sam. She was moving toward me, hair wet and hanging around her face, tanned skin glistening with the droplets of water.

"You ever do any modeling?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"Actually, yes." She pressed in on me and I backed up, letting her pin me to the edge of the pool. I smiled, hands moving naturally to her hips. "For a few years when I was a kid. I never really wanted to pursue it as an adult."

"You've definitely got the body for it."

"Mmm, so do you." She pressed up against me, rubbing one leg between mine.

"I prefer the interactive approach."

She laughed. "It pays better."

"Yes, it does."

She slipped her hands down my sides, beneath the water, until her fingers dipped just below my waistband. I caught her wrists before she went any further, eyes on hers and smiling knowingly. "Play nice," I warned with a smirk.

"What do you think the chances are that we could have sex in this pool and not get kicked off the premises?"

I cast a lingering look at the lifeguard who was already watching us warily. "Not a chance in hell."

She looked up at him, then locked eyes with me again. "Hmm. He needs a distraction." She smiled. "Maybe someone will drown or something."

I rolled my eyes. "You're unbelievable."

I ducked down, under the surface of the water, and pushed her back, writhing out of her grip. It only took me a second to move around her and I came back up at her back. She leaned into me, and I nudged her hair aside to kiss her neck.

"We could go back to the hotel we were at before," I suggested, pressing my lips to her ear.

"Which one?"

"The suite with the whirlpool in the room."

"Mmm, and the big shower."

I smiled. "Yes. That one."

"I forgot my handcuffs this time."

"I've got a pair if that's what you're looking for. But if you're after water sex..."

She seemed to consider it for a moment. "Mmm... not particularly."

I hugged her close, but kept my hands in safe zones. Samantha needed almost no provocation and she'd be all over me. And that lifeguard was still watching us. "What _are _you looking for?"

She put her arms back, over her head and around the back of mine, pulling gently at my wet hair. "Just something interesting," she replied, her voice dripping with seduction. "Different."

"Different?"

She twisted around to face me again. "Dangerous, maybe."

I smiled. Dangerous sex was right up her alley. "There's a few night clubs where we could probably get away with it."

"Hmm, too crowded."

"Isn't that the idea?"

She smirked. "No."

"Well, I'm open for suggestions."

"You don't have any more of your own?" she teased.

"I'm sure you can come up with something a little closer to what you're looking for. Since you know better than I do what that is."

She laughed at that. "Since when?"

Actually, she was one of the few women I could honestly say that about. "You know what you want. Tell me and I'll give it to you." I kissed her lips quickly, teasingly.

"You like that?"

"What?"

"That I know what I want?"

"It has definite benefits. But a woman who knows exactly what she wants was always harder to read and easier to please."

She snickered. "So do I get a discount for making your job easier?"

"You got me at a moment's notice _twice_," I reminded her. "You've got enough special privileges."

"I gave you plenty of notice this time," she pouted.

"Yes, a whole three days. Very impressive."

She laughed. "You ask a lot, boy."

"So do you, woman."

She shoved me and I fell back, letting my legs go out and dropping beneath the surface again. When I came back up, I spent a few moments wrestling with her before I finally trapped her against the side of the pool with my hands on either side of her.

"You got me," she teased. "Now what are you gonna do with me?"

I smirked. "Just this minute? Not a damn thing."

She groaned, moving her hands down, against the front of my swim trunks. I pulled them away, smirking at her. "Play nice," I warned again.

"I want you," she growled.

My smile remained firmly in place. "I know you do."

"If you won't do me here, we need to go somewhere else where you will."

"Like back to the room?"

She gave me a mock glare. "If that's the best you can do, I'll settle. For now."

I smiled, and backed away, gesturing for her to lead. A safe distance behind her, I followed, and kept one eye on her at all times as we dried off, redressed, and walked across the pool to the elevator. It led up to a small room with two doors. One went to the hallway, and ultimately to the main elevators that would take us back up to our floor. The other went to the stairs - a crudely lit, cement-paved escape corridor that would ultimately take them either down to ground level three floors below, or up to the rooftop a dozen floors above.

She shrieked in surprises when I suddenly turned, shoved the door open, and pulled her into the stairwell, mouth and hands already moving to touch her everywhere. Her surprise turned to laughter, and ultimately a groan of pleasure as I pinned her against the wall and claimed her mouth with mine.

So much for making it to the room.

**1986**

"What line?"

There was no reason for me to be surprised by Heather's presence right outside my door. But I wasn't quite sure what to make of her greeting. "Excuse me?"

"The line you said I missed. What was it?"

I chuckled as I stepped back to let her in. "Did your mom make up her mind on if she's joining us for dinner?"

"She says she's not," Heather answered, her voice still full of pointed determination. "What was the line, Face?"

"What line?" James' question was innocent and curious. Heather didn't even afford him a glance.

"You can't just say something like that and not explain yourself!"

I smiled to myself, watching her in the mirror over the dresser. She was funny to watch when she was irritated - almost as much fun as her mother. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Heather."

"Oh please. What, are you suffering early onset dementia? Come on, you're not _that _old."

I kept my smile in check as she reverted back to insulting. It wouldn't get her very far. Still ignoring her question, I glanced over my shoulder at James. "You ready?"

James looked from me to Heather and then back again. His uncertainty was obvious, but he put it aside as he pushed his glasses up and nodded. "Sure, Face."

I glanced at Heather, brow raised. "I assume you're ready."

Heather's frown turned to a calculating look, then slowly to a self-satisfied smirk. She was going for another tactic. Pulling herself up from the bed, she flounced over towards James, who was waiting at the door, safely out of the line of fire.

"Fine, we can play it your way," she said smugly. She gave James a smile as she paused beside him. "See, James, Face is trying to bluff. I didn't miss a line."

I chuckled as I followed them out the door. "Clearly, that must be it."

"Yep, I'm just that good."

"You're a pro, sweetheart."

I cast a lingering glance at Jessica's closed door as I paused in the hallway, but didn't move toward it. If she said she wasn't coming to dinner, I wouldn't force her. I would, however, go check on her after dinner. She hadn't been out of that room all day.

"Is that from one pro to another?"

I kept my smile in place as I gestured toward the elevator. "The definition of professionalism is rather subjective."

"Ah, right. So what is your definition?" She was obviously pleased with herself. James just shook his head and hit the down button.

"Well, In my world, it usually means you carry out your actions with non-personal, calculated precision to achieve a specific goal. With a high success rate."

James snickered and muttered something that sounded a lot like, "Got ya."

Heather folded her arms and took it out on him. "Shut the fuck up James and let the grownups talk."

I raised a brow, glancing back and forth at them both as James offered a muttered, "Whatever."

"If it makes you feel any better," I offered, "your success rate is nothing to scoff at."

She kept her glare focused on James. She'd lost control of the conversation and didn't know how to regain it. I hid my smirk at that. Maybe I should just throw her a bone to get her back on track. After all, I had nothing to hide and it had to be driving her nuts.

"Aside from that one line, you normally don't miss your cues."

Her eyes flashed, still focused on James. But the dangling bait was too tempting. Raising an eyebrow at me, she sized me up, I could see her weighing the options. She must have decided on a straight line. "Alright Face, what do I have to do to get you to fucking spill already?"

I watched her for a long moment, letting her squirm. She'd probably been over that conversation a million times. It had to be making her crazy that she couldn't figure out what it was that she'd done wrong. As the elevator doors opened to let us out on the casino floor, I finally gave her the answer she was looking for.

"You'll never get an outright admission from someone who's hiding something. But I was willing to grant you the hypothetical. You should've run with it."

Her eyes narrowed at me. But it was in serious concentration and disbelief, not anger. "You're shitting me right? You would hypothetically confirm what you wouldn't say out right?"

I hesitated a moment and glanced at her warily. I wasn't used to explaining the art of manipulation and deceit, and I was even less comfortable explaining it to someone who was viewing it as a tutorial. But it wasn't as if she wouldn't figure it out on her own anyways; I had. Besides, it could save her some painful learning lessons in the process.

"I didn't say I would've confirmed it. I said you should've run with it."

"What do you mean?"

I had James' attention now, too. That made me hesitate a moment longer.

"Sooner or later, when you deal in hypotheticals, the person you're talking to will get comfortable with the idea that it's 'not real' and reveal truths that are too unique to be hypothetical. By the time you confront them on it, they realize they've already told you everything and they've lost their plausible deniability."

She stared at me. "That simple, huh?" she asked, disbelief clear in her voice.

"There's a lot of variables. What kind of information you're trying to get, the kind of relationship you have - or can fake - with the person you're talking to. You also need to think about _why_ they're hiding whatever it is you want to know. Very often it works out better for the both of you if you keep your newly acquired knowledge tucked safely away and never let them know you know."

"So, hypothetically I could have gotten the truth from you, or an idea of what or why you're hiding, just by pressing in the 'it's all pretend' button?"

"Most people won't even see it coming."

She was thinking it through out loud, unlike James who was taking every word and silently digesting the information.

"So, let's say hypothetically, that I miss a big fucking opening. What's the best way to get back to that point?"

I smiled. That was a bone I _wasn't _going to throw her. "You don't."

"So I just have to make a new opportunity."

"Well, the problem with that is that you've now alerted your target. You won't get the same kind of opportunity the second time around."

"Oh, I'm pretty damn sure my target was alerted that first time around. So he either fucked up, which I doubt, or he wanted me to know. Which do you think it was? Hypothetically?"

I chuckled. "I was willing to humor you because you were playing your cards right. You won't get that opportunity again because frankly, it isn't even _remotely _any of your business."

"Whatever you say, Face."

She was entirely too pleasant. But she let the conversation drop. I had a feeling she'd be trying again later.

"So where are we going?" She grinned. "I hope they have good looking men and expensive drinks."

"Templeton!"

I stopped, instinctively bracing myself for anything. Anyone calling me that here knew exactly who they were calling. With a deep breath, I spun on my heel, looking in the direction of the voice. I saw the speaker immediately, ambling out from behind the bar with a stunned look on his face. "Templeton Peck, is that you?"

"Mike!" I greeted with a smile. There were worse people it could've been.

"Good lord, boy, where you been?" He took my outstretched hand as he came close and pulled me into a hug so suddenly that I nearly lost my balance. Wow. He'd suddenly gotten a lot more friendly than I remembered him.

As he pulled away, he immediately looked around at the unfamiliar faces. "Lord, boy, these your kids?"

"Friends," I corrected. "Heather, and James."

They shook hands, exchanged quick greetings, and Mike looked back at me. "Man, I don't understand you, boy." Mike laughed. "You don't look a day older than you did thirteen years ago and your 'friends' just keep gettin' prettier and prettier."

He winked at Heather, who raised a questioning brow at me. There was nothing I could do but shake my head slightly.

"So how long you in town for?" Mike asked. "You gonna be here a few days?"

"Actually, we're sort of on our way out." I gestured over my shoulder. "We had a little family emergency up here but their mom has to get back to work and they have to get back to school."

Mike looked this time at James. "So is your mom a 'friend' of Tem's too?"

James laughed tensely, not sure how to answer that.

"Oh, our mom has known Tem for a _long _time," Heather answered for him, smiling wickedly at Face.

"Well, maybe you need to hang onto this one, Templeton," Mike said with a grin. "Put a ring on that friend's finger and you be friends for life!"

Heather was snickering.

"I'll keep it in mind, Mike."

"You were always a good kid, Templeton." Mike put a hand on my shoulder. "But you always did need a little shove in the right direction when a good thing came along."

I rubbed the back of my neck, looking for an exit. This was getting awkward.

"So did you work as a bartender with Fa- er, Templeton?" Heather asked.

"No," I answered for Mike, glaring at Heather. She'd gotten all she was going to get on that topic. "Don't push it."

The answering look she gave me was pure innocence.

"So how are you makin' a living now, boy?" Mike asked.

"I'm retired."

Mike laughed. "No more drinkin' that Crown Royal?"

I couldn't help but smile at that. "Not since 73."

"Heh. Good for you, boy. No self-respecting man oughtta drink that stuff."

Behind him, I could hear the whispers between Heather and James. "Isn't Crown Royal whiskey?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Wonder what's so unrespectable about it."

More snickering.

"Every time I pour a shot of Crown," Mike continued, "I remember you. Glad you got outta that line of work, boy. That bartending will kill a man."

I smiled politely. I'd had about enough of this. "We really should get going."

"Oh, hey, listen." Mike was suddenly serious. "I got something for you. But I don't got it with me right this minute. You gonna be around tomorrow?"

"What is it?"

"It's a letter. I had it for years now, holdin' onto it for you."

I frowned. Did I even _want _to know? "I appreciate it, Mike, but I -"

"Then let me bring it up to your room when I get off work. I'll run get it and bring it back."

I studied him for a moment. Clearly it meant more to him than it did to me. And clearly it did mean something significant to him. "Alright," I granted. "Room 2632. What time does your shift end?"


	26. Chapter Twenty Five

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

**1973**

The glare that greeted me when Tamika opened the door said more than words. "You could've warned me, you know."

"What? About Sam?"

She left the door open as she turned away, and I followed her into the apartment. She wasn't dressed to go out. In fact, she looked like hell. "Yes. About Sam."

"Hey, whatever's going on between the two of you, I'm staying the hell out of it. She's my client, you're my friend, and I don't care if the two of you get along or not."

"Sure it's not the other way around?" she snapped.

I raised a brow. Damn, she was in a mood tonight. "What is this, a jealousy routine?"

"Oh, fuck you!"

Apparently that was not the right thing to say. I raised my hands and took a step back toward the door. "I can leave."

"Good idea."

That was all I needed to hear. I was back out the door and halfway down the steps before her voice stopped me. "Templeton..."

I paused and looked up at her, but made no move back towards the apartment. She sighed, and put a hand on her forehead, pushing it back through her hair. She said nothing more for a long moment, just shut her eyes, shook her head, and finally, with complete resignation, mumbled, "Get up here."

She turned and walked back into the apartment, leaving the door open. I hesitated for a long moment. It wasn't an order. She wasn't trying to pick a fight. She was trying to end one. But somehow I didn't think she'd really care if I came back or not. In either case, she'd covered her ass. It wasn't her fault.

Damn it...

I walked slowly back to the apartment and shut the door behind me. "I take it your visit didn't go well," I said unassumingly, shrugging off my jacket and setting it over the back of the sofa.

"The visit never goes well," she answered from the kitchen. She emerged a moment later with two cups of tea and set them on the table before she sat down. "And it's not just that. I'm just... it's been a really shitty couple of days."

"How so?" I sat down across from her and pulled the cup closer, watching as she lit a cigarette.

She hesitated for a long moment, taking a deep drag, and sat back. "I lost two clients in one car accident," she finally answered, frankly. "They were brothers. And I had to cancel an _important _appointment when Sam showed up at my door. And I probably lost another client as a result."

"How hard does that hit you?"

"What?" she snapped, on edge.

I kept my tone neutral. "How many clients do you keep?"

She studied me for a long moment, then leaned forward to draw the ashtray closer. She tapped her ashes, took another drag, then looked up at me. "I had five."

Shit.

"And I was really counting on that job I had to cancel to pay the rent this month." She leaned forward, holding her forehead.

"If money's a problem -"

"No." She didn't let me finish. "Forget it. It's..." She took another drag off her cigarette. "It's not your problem."

I was quiet for a long moment, eyes lowered. Whatever her rent payment was for this month, it wouldn't even cause a ripple in my financial standing. But there was no way to say that without it sounding all wrong. "It's not that big a deal, Mika," I finally offered, quietly.

"It is to me."

I nodded. "Well, if you change your mind -"

"I won't."

That meant there was nothing more to say.

She sighed as she sat back. "Enough about this," she said firmly. "Let's talk about something else."

"Such as?"

She paused for a moment, watching me, before she finally spoke. "How about you tell me where you really grew up."

I laughed. "That's very... direct."

"Subtleties don't work with you."

There was no emotion whatsoever in her tone. She was staring at me with a blank look, clearly expecting a response to the abrasive almost-demand.

"I told you where I grew up," I answered cautiously.

"Ah, yes." She chuckled. "The youngest of ten children on a poor farm in France with your nurse mother."

I smiled. "You don't believe me."

"Not a chance in hell."

"Why not?" I asked curiously.

She smiled. "Because if you knew that definitively where you came from, you would know exactly who you are. You wouldn't say things to me like what you said about missing yourself."

"Missing myself?"

"You don't know yourself well enough to miss being who you are."

I studied her for a moment, recalling the words in context, and lowered my head, smile still in place. Of course she'd picked that up. And of course she would hold onto it until she wanted to use it to catch me off guard.

"It's written all over your face, Tem," she said, her tone a little softer now. "It just takes someone who's been there to see it."

"See what?"

"Why are you so alone in the world?"

I shrugged. "I don't know how to answer that."

"Start with how your parents died."

I looked up at her, holding her gaze for a long moment before I finally took a deep breath. No sense in lying when she obviously already knew more than what I'd told her. And I wasn't entirely sure that I cared enough to even try and keep the secret. At this point, what did it really matter?

"I grew up in LA."

"How many siblings?"

"None, that I know of."

"Liar."

I glanced up at her. "They weren't related to me."

"That doesn't matter. If you grew up with them..."

I held her gaze, tipping my head up. Shoulders back, I faced her dead-on. "Dozens, then," I answered, quietly but surely. "Same as you."

The recognition that glossed over her eyes was unmistakable, but she held back her reaction to it. I looked away, unable to hold her stare. I suddenly felt... naked. I didn't like the feeling.

"Bad memories?" she asked after a long silence.

"Some," I admitted. "But mostly, no. There were people who cared about me."

"Did you ever even know your parents?"

"No." I reconsidered, and shrugged. "Well, I knew my mother, but I don't remember her. I don't remember anything before..." I shifted uncomfortably. Why was I talking about this? I didn't even _think _about this stuff. "Before the orphanage."

"How old were you?"

"I was five."

"And you have no memories before that?"

"No." I glanced up at her. "It's just... black."

"Have you ever tried to remember?"

"I used to." I sighed deeply. "It used to bother me. It doesn't anymore."

"Why?"

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter anymore. When you're ten-years-old, five years is half of your life. But by now..."

She studied me carefully, but said nothing.

I smiled faintly as I lowered my head again. "Besides, now I have more important blocks of memory to deal with than one I can't even remember."

Too far. This was going too far. I waited for one more word from her, one more question. One last excuse was all I needed to convince myself that it was time to leave. "I should get going" was already on the tip of my tongue, and all I needed was an invitation from her to spit it out.

"I'm obviously not dressed to go out and quite frankly, I'm exhausted. I need to get some sleep."

She startled me. I was sure she saw it; I couldn't quite hide it fast enough. The slight smirk on her face told me that she knew exactly what I'd been thinking. She'd beaten me to it. Momentarily unsure of myself, it took me a few seconds to figure out that I should stand up. As I finally did so, the second nature charm kicked in before I even had a chance to think about what I was saying.

"Shall I tuck you in?"

I always seemed to revert to it when I was off guard. It was safe, a role I was confident in. But right now, I wished that he'd said anything else. That wasn't at all what she'd wanted to hear, and I knew it. Still, I couldn't take it back now. Hiding my regret and uncertainty, I extended a hand to her and waited for her decline.

She stared at my hand for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, she took it, letting me pull her to her feet. I countered the instinct to pull her close with a firm determination that I would do no such thing. She stood still, almost as if she was waiting for it, and I laughed quietly. It was hard to tell how much of this game she had memorized and how much she was just playing by ear.

"You know where the bedroom is," she reminded me quietly.

"I do. Should I carry you?"

She laughed. It was genuine, and reassuring. "I don't think that will be necessary. Thank you."

I guided her down the hall and into the room on the right, leaving the light off as I pushed the door open. As I paused beside the neatly made bed, she suddenly stepped closer to me. I blinked in surprise. Still holding her hand, I stood nose-to-nose with her. Suddenly, the urge to kiss her was overwhelming. It was habit, instinct mixed with training that I'd firmly ingrained into my thinking. Licking my lips, I took a slight step back, putting some distance between us.

"You know, for someone without any interest in pursuing this," I whispered, studying her, "you sure do give off a lot of pheromones."

She smirked slightly. "Sorry," she breathed back. "Habit."

I released her hand, and used the other to gesture to the bed. Eyes remaining on me, she turned down the blankets and slipped underneath them, turning onto her side. I pulled the blankets up around her and leaned down. I'd meant to kiss her cheek, but it somehow ended up being her jaw, just below her ear.

"Sleep well, Mika," I whispered.

She didn't answer. When I pulled away, her eyes were closed, a soft smile on her face. I watched her for a few seconds, then turned and left, grabbing my jacket on the way to the front door.

**1973**

I'd been smooth enough in exchanging the money for the flower that she hadn't even seen it. Bernice's eyes widened in surprise and then delight as she took it from my hand. "Thank you."

I smiled and kissed her cheek lightly as I slid a hand behind her back, but didn't bother answering.

"Your friend... she's meeting us here?"

"She is," I answered.

Bernice nodded slowly. "Are you sure it's alright?" she asked as I led her towards the bar. I smiled politely at the people as we passed, but I wasn't hunting. My attention was solely on her. "Janice told me you wanted full details before I came out here but this... well... it was just too awkward to discuss in a letter and I figured in person, you could always say no. Especially since it wasn't part of the original deal."

I chuckled to myself. Awkward? Perhaps for her, it was. For me, it was just another letter. I'd read far worse fantasies than hers. Hers was simple. Common, even. And for what she was paying me, she could've asked for a lot more.

"It's not a problem," I assured her. "Ironically, ask for full disclosure to _avoid_ awkward situations. If this worked better for you, I have no problem with it."

"To avoid them?"

The leading question made me smile. Normally, I made a point to never "shop talk" with clients. Except Sam, who seemed to love it. But not only had she initiated the question, she seemed to need the reassurance before she could relax.

"There are a number of things that I am not willing to do," I explained. "And I'm not naive enough to think that there aren't people out there who want those things. It's better that they know before they make the trip so that they can make arrangements with somebody else, and enjoy their stay while they're here."

I could feel her studying me, curious. "Do a lot of people do this?"

I pulled her chair out for her, and gestured loosely at the bartender.

"I mean, I know it's Vegas. But I can't imagine anyone I know ever doing something like this. I mean, except for Janice, of course. And even that... I had no idea."

"You'd be surprised. As I told you, I make a point of being discreet." I whispered the last part of that in her ear, smiling as I stood beside her. Then I pulled away and sat down next to her. "And most people who are in this line of work do the same. The idea is very much that your closest friends would only know if you choose for them to know."

The bartender approached and smiled warmly at us. "Templeton, how are you?"

I shook hands with him over the top of the bar. "Just fine, John." I immediately put my hand on the back of Bernice's chair.

"And who is the lovely lady with you this evening?"

"This is Bernice, and she would like a glass of Beringer white zin. Bernice, this is my friend John."

She smiled politely as she shook his hand. "How do you do?"

"Very well, thank you." He didn't go far - just turned and reached for the bottle and glass and poured. He set it down in front of her a second later and pointed at Templeton. "Usual?"

I nodded as I slid her glass closer, but didn't answer.

"You must come here a lot," she observed, watching me curiously as she lifted her glass and took a sip.

I smiled back. "Yes, I have friends in high places."

John returned quickly and set a glass in front of me - Coke, without liquor. It was much easier to play this game when I was completely sober.

"When you live and work here, you get to know the people you can trust," John said. "Because so many people, you can't. But this guy right here?" He smiled as he pointed at me. "This is a man who's always got your back."

I grinned and pointed back. "And this is a man who gets tipped very well."

Bernice laughed. I gave another long glance around. 7:45. She should've been here fifteen minutes ago. "John, have you seen Carlyn?" I asked, slightly concerned. "She was supposed to be here at 7:30."

"I haven' seen her," he answered. "You want to call her? I got a phone back here you can use."

"Please." I smiled apologetically at the woman beside me. "If you don't mind?"

"Not at all," she reassured me with a loose, comfortable gesture.

I kissed her cheek as I stood and followed John to the other side of the circular bar. "She stand you up again?" he asked quietly as I reached for the phone.

I glared at the numbers as I dialed, the calm and pleasant demeanor gone now that I was out of Bernice's line of sight. "I swear to God, if she's high, I'm going to fucking kill her."

"I'm surprised you didn't kill her last time. The kind of money _you _make on this shit..." He shook his head. "I don't know how you do it, man. But I sure as hell wouldn't be sharing business with someone unreliable."

I nodded, but didn't speak as I waited for the phone to be picked up. When she did answer, I knew within the first syllable that she wasn't right. "Hullo?"

"Where are you supposed to be?" I demanded, impatient.

Her words were slurred as she answered. "Hmm... who is this?"

"This is Templeton. And to answer the more important question, you're supposed to be at the bar in the Sahara. It's after 7:30."

"Is it? Wow... where does the time go?"

"You're high, aren't you?" It was a rhetorical question. I could hear it in her voice.

"Huh? What? No! No, uh uh, I'm not... I don't do that shit no more."

I shut my eyes. She wasn't worth it. She simply wasn't worth what it would cost to get angry at her. I was already irritated. I would just have to leave it at that. "Forget it, Carlyn. Just forget it."

I hung up the phone and paused for a minute. I wasn't even sure who else I could call on such short notice. There were others, but it was a weekend. And most of them had stiffed me just as badly on their nights off. Except one.

I hesitated for a long moment, staring at the phone. She'd never discussed it, at least not outright. What it was that she did for a living remained an implied secret with a hidden meaning. It could be very awkward if I'd read her wrong. But I hadn't read her wrong. I knew it. And moreover, with only two clients, she was most likely free. The bigger problem was Bernice.

I took a deep, calming breath before I walked back and gave her a smile. "Slight change of plans. And I have a question for you."

"Oh?"

I leaned in closer to her as I sat down. "When you mentioned this to me, you didn't specify the kind of woman you were looking for." I hesitated. "Do looks matter to you?"

She paused. "I would expect her to be at least somewhat attractive."

Mika had that. That wasn't the question.

"Let me put it this way." I took a quick drink. "Does _color _matter to you?"

She stared at me for a long moment. She didn't know how to take that. The thought probably hadn't even crossed her mind, and it took her a few long moments to process it. Finally, she shook her head slowly. "No, I suppose not. Not if it doesn't bother you..."

Perfect.

"In that case," I kissed her cheek, "give me five minutes. Sorry about this."

"No, it's alright." She chuckled softly. "I sprung this on you."

I laughed quietly and let my touch linger on her arm as I stepped away, back around to the phone. I dialed again. This time, it was picked up by a very sober woman.

"Mika, how are you?"

"Fine." She sounded like she was actually in a good mood.

"Great. Hey, I have a... business proposition for you."

She paused. "A business proposition?" she asked warily.

"I need a female second for about two hours," I explained. "The girl I normally contract with is at home high instead of here with me and my client. She stood me up, and as forgiving as my client is, I'm going to have to refund the money she gave me for this. I'd rather give it to you. It's a good chunk of change and it's an easy job. So it's up to you."

She was quiet for a long moment. "Does your client know that I'm black?"

"Yes. But you wouldn't be engaging with the client. You'd be engaging with me."

Another pause. I glanced up and smiled politely at John as he approached. He gave me a questioning look, but didn't interrupt the silence as I waited for her to make a decision.

"It would take me about an hour to get ready," she finally said.

"That's fine. I can keep her busy for that long."

Another pause. Then she took a deep, audible breath. "Where should I meet you?"


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

**1973**

The room was candlelit, the way she'd wanted it. I'd paid room service dearly to make sure it was that way when we walked in the door. Bernice was impressed. She smiled as she stepped further into the room and looked around. "It's beautiful," she said approvingly.

I smiled. It was the little things that made all the difference, and I knew it. I still had a hold of Tamika's hand as she turned to shut the door behind us.

"Well, don't mind me," Bernice said softly as she settled into the chair in the corner of the room. "Just... pretend I'm not here."

I hid my smirk. She was so excited she could barely contain herself, chatting nervously from the moment Mika had arrived on the scene. I was glad that she realized she was going to have to shut up if she wanted us to actually ignore her.

Mika stepped closer to me, lips brushing mine lightly as she spoke just loud enough for our audience to hear. "I'm gonna..." She nodded to the bathroom and I smiled.

"I'll be waiting."

She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door softly. I stood still for a moment, then walked to the single king-sized bed, sitting on the edge of it. I removed my shoes and jacket slowly, and had just loosened my tie when the bathroom door opened again. I glanced up, and did a double take as Mika took a step forward and slid one arm up the corner of the wall as she leaned against it, naked and absolutely gorgeous.

Holy shit.

For a moment, I genuinely had nothing to say. She smiled as she took a few steps towards me and caressed the side of my face with the palm of her hand. "You're still dressed..."

I'd never heard that tone from her before - low and dark and dripping sweet seduction. It took me a moment to snap out of the startled trance, shaking my head slightly. I didn't have to _act _surprised. If Bernice was looking for a genuine reaction, she sure as hell got one.

"Sorry," I answered quietly. "You kind of caught me off guard."

I moved back as she straddled me, both hands in my hair, and leaned down to cover my lips with hers. I responded instinctively, opening to her. Swift, experienced hands stripped my shirt and pushed me back onto the bed.

My body was answering hers, and for a moment, it was easy to forget that this was play acting. But as she opened her eyes and looked down at me, I got over the confusion in one quick hurry. She was cold, calculated, and the effect was startling.

I couldn't identify, much less sort through all of the emotions that hit me in that moment. I wanted to push her away, to apologize, to make her stop. Anything to get that look out of her eyes. It was a lonely, distant look, and it was one that actually hurt to see. I'd never seen it before. I didn't want to.

"Tamika..."

"Quiet," she whispered, leaning down to kiss the side of my neck.

I swallowed hard. Acutely aware of the eyes on us, I tipped my head down so I could speak directly into her ear. "This is a bad idea."

She pulled away slowly and looked down at me. The cold, distant pain was gone from her eyes. But the memory of it lingered on the backs of mine. "Just relax, Templeton," she whispered. "You're good at this, remember?"

Her quiet, almost teasing tone wasn't enough to undo the effects of that look. As she lay back, pulling me over her, I found I was relying on training more than instinct. Her legs parted, and my hand found its way between them. She wasn't ready - not even close. Eyes closed to avoid any chance of catching that gaze again, I leaned down to kiss her.

It was several long minutes of slow, steady stroking - during which I managed to get my slacks down - before either one of us were even close to being ready. It was nerve wracking. Never in my life had I had any difficulty in getting and staying hard. But the images and thoughts I relied on weren't working. And I was acutely aware a growing sense of guilt and perversion that I was unfamiliar with.

This was the second time in the past month I'd felt like this. And I did _not _like it.

Mika pressed up. I pressed down. Bernice stood. The slightest distraction was all it took to break my concentration, and I almost couldn't even enter her. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

I dropped my head to her shoulder. "Yes."

I wasn't okay. She had to know that. I just wasn't sure what the hell I was supposed to do about it. It was a spiral of panic and uncertainty. A strange sense of performance anxiety that I'd never felt before. I'd never needed to. I really _was _good at this, and my partner's reactions had always been more than enough to reaffirm that. But I wasn't getting the reactions out of her that I needed. And I couldn't disengage enough to get them from my own mind.

"This was a bad idea, wasn't it?" she breathed.

"It's just work." I leaned down to kiss my way slowly along her jaw, up to her ear, hiding the conversation in barely-audible whispers. "It doesn't mean anything."

"I believe that. Do you?"

I could feel every step that Bernice took. I could see it with my eyes closed. She was walking around the bed. And damn it, she was going to see that the slow, shallow thrusts were that way because I couldn't do more, not because I didn't want to.

"Mika?"

"Yes?"

I swallowed hard, squeezed my eyes shut, pulled her up tighter against me. "I need you to work with me here," I pleaded softly.

"Talk to her." Bernice's voice was startling, though gentle. She either didn't see the conversation or, more likely, wanted to hear what we were saying.

I responded without thought. "You're so beautiful..."

The lines were automatic, quiet whispers of love and affirmation. I let them continue as I worked all the way down her throat, across her collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses. She moaned softly, but it didn't help. She wasn't engaging. Hands loosely on either side of her head, eyes closed, legs open... she was like the prostitutes in Vietnam.

God damn it! I _knew _she was better than this!

"Jesus, Mika, please!" I hissed into her ear. "Just give me something - _anything _- to work with."

"I'm sorry."

"I need your help. I can't stay focused." I winced as I considered the very real possibility that this was going no further. What the _hell _was I supposed to tell this client? I set my forehead on the pillow, on her braids, as I gave one final effort to procuring a reaction. "Come on, baby, I know you're better than this."

She was still for a moment. Then, finally, she raised her hands to my sides, nails brushing lightly over sensitive skin. "Look at me," she said quietly.

I didn't want to look at her. That was where this whole thing went wrong in the first place. But she'd spoken loud enough for Bernice to hear, and that meant I couldn't ignore it. Reluctantly, I raised my head and stared down at her.

Her eyes were dark and full of excitement. I knew it was a lie, but in that moment I was more than happy to take it as Bible truth, straight from the hand of God. She smiled at me as she slid her hands down to my hips, kneading gently as she brought one foot up the side of my calf.

"Feels good," she whispered. She finished in a moan, tipping her head back and baring her throat.

I leaned down, kissing her neck, pressing my tongue to her pulse. The feel of it, throbbing and alive, sparked that part of me that was dormant.

"Fuck me. Templeton, please... I need you..."

Finally, my body responded. Training met instinct and formed something akin to desire. I knew every move, how to read every response. I knew her first orgasm was fake. I knew the second one wasn't. It startled her, and frightened her, and that look came over her eyes again. But by that point, it was okay. It took the edge off for me, and made it surprisingly easy to disengage from her long before I found release. It was a good thing, too. Unable to just watch any longer, Bernice moved to the bed. With one last lingering look at each other, Tamika and I both turned our attentions to her.

**1973**

Tamika was easy to spot. She was at the slots nearest the elevators, redressed in the black slip-on she'd been wearing earlier that evening. I'd been dozing lightly when she left. It only took me a few minutes to decide I would follow, and a few more to make sure Bernice was really and truly asleep. It was unprofessional to leave a client. But I doubted she'd be waking up any time soon. She'd definitely gotten her money's worth tonight.

I hesitated for a long moment, hands in my pockets, before I approached Mika. She was surprised to see me. Which meant she wasn't here waiting for me. She'd just gravitated towards the very first thing she saw that could distract her. She hid her reaction quickly as she looked away again and for a moment, I wasn't sure what to say to her.

"Can I buy you a drink?" I finally offered, leaning on the machine and looking down at her.

She glanced up at me, and stared for a moment before turning her attention back to the slots. "Normally you do that first, you know," she answered emotionlessly.

"Yeah, well..." I rubbed the back of my neck, genuinely uneasy and unsure of myself for the first time in a _very _long time. "Nothing about that was normal."

"Shouldn't you be up there with her?"

"She's asleep."

"She might still miss you."

"I doubt it. She's dead to the world for the next few hours at least."

Mika was quiet for a long moment. Then she increased her bet, blew the last of her money in one pull, and stood, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray beside her. "Alright. Let's go."

I didn't know the bartender at the Sahara. For some reason, I was glad for that. "Shot of Crown and whatever she wants," I mumbled to him as I sat down and put my head in my hands.

"Vodka tonic, please."

I couldn't help a brief, humorless laugh at that as I dropped my hands to the bar top and sighed.

"That's funny?" There was almost a challenge to her tone.

I shook my head. "No." I hesitated a moment, well aware that she was waiting for more of an explanation, not sure if I wanted to give it to her. But hell, we needed _something _to talk about. And damned if I wanted to discuss what had just happened in that room upstairs. "Just reminds me of a friend of mine."

"Oh?"

It was leading. I didn't resist it. She was entitled to a certain amount of prying at this point, if that's what she wanted. "It was his drink of choice. That and tequila. And when he started drinking tequila, I always knew it was going to be a long night."

She reached for her cigarettes. I had a lighter ready by the time she'd pulled one from the pack. She let the silence linger and answered him with only a quiet "thank you."

"No problem."

The bartender returned. I paid. Mika eyed me suspiciously as I took the shot in hand. "Isn't it a little early for that?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought that was your celebration drink. For a job well done."

I forced a smile in her direction and raised the glass. "Well, I would call that a job well done, wouldn't you?"

"But she's not on the plane yet."

"Semantics." I threw the shot back and set the empty glass on the counter. I could feel her eyes on me, watching me carefully as she slowly sipped her drink. When the bartender came to pick up the glass, I ordered water. This time, Mika laughed.

"That's funny?" It was less of a challenge than she'd used, but the quip pro quo was obvious.

"That's a hell of a chaser."

I shrugged. "As per usual." The bartender handed me the glass of water. "I have no interest in getting - or being - drunk."

She nodded slowly as she sipped her vodka. The silence stretched again, and I didn't try to break it. It was her move, and I could tell she was choosing her line of questioning carefully. As carefully as I would, in fact. It made me wonder how much she knew already, and what blanks she was trying to fill in.

"So your friend," she started. "Were you close?"

I hesitated a moment, sipping the water. "About as close as either of us wanted to be."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Actually, it hadn't been an attempt to avoid the question. I hesitated for a moment, considering my response, listening to the sounds of the casino. The ratchet of pull levers, the dings and chimes from the slots, the clacking sound of coins in the trays, the ambient chatter and occasional laugh or shout of joy.

There was a man across the bar trying desperately to pick up the woman sitting beside him - and failing miserably. He would've had better luck with either of the two on his other side, who were both ridiculously drunk. Of course, they were together. He'd have to split them up. Unless they were _really _drunk. And even then, the two of them together were probably way out of his league.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered how hard it would really be, and how much trouble I would probably get myself into if I felt any inclination whatsoever to hunt for average, attractive females who were just looking for a good time. Fortunately for an awful lot of boyfriends and husbands, to say nothing of women looking for true love, I had no such inclination.

"So, to be clear, you're avoiding the question, right?"

It took me a moment to remember what the question was. "I'm not avoiding it," I finally answered her. "It's a hard question."

"How so?"

I hesitated. "I'm the type of person who prefers to keep a safe emotional distance. So was he. So when you ask if we were close, yes. We were as close as either one of us was capable of getting. Or willing to get."

She nodded slowly, considering that. "So you would've considered him a real friend."

I laughed quietly. I couldn't help it. "You're trying very hard to pinpoint something that can't be made so simple."

She smirked. "Everything is simple at its core. We're the ones who complicate it."

"Well, we complicated it a lot."

"By choice?"

I shrugged. "By choice, and just by circumstances."

She was quiet for a moment, swirling the straw in her drink. "So whatever happened to your complicated friendship?"

"We parted ways over... social differences."

She laughed at that. "Gee, could you be any more vague about that?"

I smiled. "I could tell you it was a simple difference of opinion."

"Not so simple if you parted ways over it."

"Let's just say we both saw a side of each other we didn't like."

"A violent side?"

I raised a brow as I glanced at her. "Why would you think that?"

She shrugged, but didn't answer.

And that was the end of that conversation.


	28. Chapter Twenty Seven

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

**1986**

"I been holdin' onto this twelve years," Mike said as he handed me the letter. "And now you're gonna take it off my hands."

I studied the envelope warily. It was folded, creased and yellowed with age.

"I have carried this damn thing with me through five different jobs 'cause I made a promise to a pretty young thing back in '73 that if I ever saw you, I'd make sure you got it."

I suddenly felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he stared at the envelope.

"Now, what you do with this is your business. But I made a promise. And now I've fulfilled it. So take this damn thing; get it off my hands."

"Oooh," Heather teased, looking over my shoulder. "A love letter?"

"An _old _one," James added, amazed that a letter had remained sealed for so long.

Jessica leaned on the dresser, arms loosely crossed. "Are you going to read it?" she asked. She couldn't hide her curiosity. "Twelve years is a long time. It must be important."

I licked my lips, bringing moisture back to my mouth, then lowered his eyes to the envelope. "Open it!" Heather hissed with a quiet giggle.

"I gotta admit," Mike said, "I'm pretty damn curious."

Very carefully, I opened the envelope and withdrew a folded piece of paper. The elegant writing on it was in large letters. _I can't find you. Come find me. - Tamika_

I shut my eyes and refolded the letter. Heather reached for it, and I let her have it. "Who's Tamika?" Jessica asked.

"An old friend."

"Old girlfriend?" James assumed.

I didn't answer. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Heather take the paper. "Did you stand her up, Face?"

I let out a deep breath. "It's a little more complicated than that."

"Well, I'm guessing you never went to go find her if the letter's still here..."

"There's another one," Mike said, pulling a second envelope out of his pocket. "Got this one just a few years ago."

I opened the envelope without hesitation this time. This time, the letter was longer. And after only a glimpse at the date and the first line, I refolded it and put it in my inside jacket pocket, ignoring the protests and taunts of the teenagers reading over my shoulders and the concerned look on Jessica's face.

"Mike?"

"Yeah, man?"

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Oh, a couple-a, I dunno how many months ago. Maybe a year. She come by a bunch of times lookin' for you. You broke that poor thing's heart, you know."

Damn it. That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

"Anyways, I'll leave you guys in peace." He shook hands all around again, and lingered for a long moment, holding mine. "Take care of yourself, Templeton."

I nodded, and forced a smile. "You too."

**1973**

It wasn't the first time that I had found myself lying next to a woman and feeling used. It was more than the normal, expected usury - both my body and my emotions were playthings for anyone with enough money to buy them; I'd accepted that long ago. Embraced it, even. But normally, there was at least a sense of gratitude, an acknowledgement that it really did take talent - or at least practiced skill - to create the environments and emotional orgasms - to say nothing of the physical ones - I provided my clients.

I was good. I didn't need any woman to tell me that; I already knew it. But needing to hear it and appreciating the compliment were two very different things. It was, to me, a matter of respect. I didn't stand on a street corner hoping to make eye contact with potential clients. For the first few months, I'd had to advertise - though never like that. But since then, I'd rarely found myself without a letter or two at the front desk of the hotel every week. I didn't _have _to see any of them. I chose to. I had a lot to offer, and it was in demand. That was the way I saw it, and offhanded remarks from Mike and others about my self-respect never concerned me. I had plenty of respect - for, from, and because of my clients.

Ellie had proven herself to be one of the few exceptions.

Four days of hell. Sweetly-stated insults and harsh demands - some of which I'd flat out told her I would not do, no matter how much she paid me. That should've been established before she came out to see me - and I'd said it in every way I could think of to make it clear. But she simply did not respect the boundaries I'd set. I was a lot of things, but a pushover was not one of them. Twice, I'd almost walked away from her in the restaurant, and that was only the first evening. At this point, I'd stuck it out long enough that I'd might as well at least get paid for it. The money was the only thing that made the past few days bearable. And if I'd known that they were going to turn out the way they had, no amount of money she'd offered could've bought me.

I had my self-respect to think of, after all.

"You're a military man, aren't you?"

His eyes snapped open, and my entire body tensed. But I didn't move. When she said nothing more, I slowly raised my eyes to hers. "I was," I corrected, ever-cautious. From the way she'd said it, there would be no convincing her otherwise. Caught in the lie, I quickly formed another one.

"You served in the war?"

I pulled away, eyeing her warily, and she chuckled. "Oh, relax, Templeton. I'm not trying to pry. I know people don't like to talk about it."

I hesitated for a long moment before replying, so low he could barely hear his own words. "I was in the Army," I whispered. "Drafted."

She smiled, and brushed my hair back from my forehead. "I could tell."

My eyes narrowed a little. I hated to ask, hated to open up the conversation any further, but I had to know. "How?"

"Because you make love like a man schooled by prostitutes."

I blinked, caught off guard, and spent a moment trying to determine whether or not I should be offended by that. She was half right. Though my introduction to sex had been before I'd joined the Army, my real initiation to this art - this lifestyle - had definitely come in the Saigon brothels. I'd been eager to learn - and interested enough to ask, even if it made me look like a fool at the time - and a few of them had been more than willing to teach.

"It's not a bad thing," she reassured me. "You're very good at it."

Her smile remained in place, her fingers lightly stroking the side of my face until I finally lowered my head onto her shoulder. For a moment, she was quiet. Then, still raking her fingers gently through my hair, she sighed deeply. "Do you know what I find most fascinating about that, though?"

"About what?"

"About you."

I didn't answer. She wouldn't have asked if she didn't intend to explain. Her hand moved to the back of my neck, cradling me against her. "Most people who sleep with prostitutes despise them. Look down on them as something less than human - especially if they're foreign, but even if they're not. They consider anyone who would sell their body pathetic, too desperate."

My eyes narrowed as I sensed where this was going. "Most people" was clearly meant to include me. More importantly, it also probably included her. "I didn't think that," I clarified, my voice firm.

She laughed quietly. "Clearly." She paused for a moment. "It takes a very special - a very unique - kind of man to pay for prostitutes... and then turn around and become one."

Finally, the dig came. I'd been expecting it, and had already steeled myself for it. My reaction was minimal. "If it bothers you, I can leave," I said flatly, emotionlessly.

"Not at all," she sighed. "But does it bother you?"

I didn't answer.

"Does it bother you that you're being paid for this?"

His eyes flickered to the clock on the bedside table. Ten o'clock. I'd had enough. The hell with her.

I pushed myself up, away from her. "Not at all," I answered her with a smile. "But I'm afraid my shift is over. I'll be back in the morning to take you to the airport."

She laughed quietly. "I've offended you."

It wasn't the first time. Just the first time that I allowed it to show.

She didn't move as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, all in the same smooth movement. "I understand," she said quietly, watching me redress in the neon light that filtered through the window. "At any rate, thank you for the wonderful evening. All of them. I will highly recommend you."

I forced a smile as I buttoned my shirt. "You're very welcome."

I threw my vest over my shoulders, draped my jacket on my arm. "What time does your plane leave?"

"Noon."

"Then I'll be back at nine to take you to breakfast."

"I'll be waiting."

I gave one last smile, but didn't say goodbye as I walked out of the cheap motel room.

**1986**

"Where are you going?"

I hadn't said five full sentences since we'd left Las Vegas. Several times, I'd been driving so fast Jessica almost hadn't been able to keep up. When she vanished from my rearview mirror, I knew it was too fast. Slow down, let her catch up... Now, as I dropped James off in front of their house, she took the opportunity to lean on the side of my car.

"I just have some things I need to take care of."

"Should I be worried?"

"No."

"Well, I am."

I sighed deeply, and looked up at her. "Please don't ask."

She nodded slightly. "Will you at least tell me where you're going?"

I hesitated a moment before answering. "San Francisco."

"That's a bit of a drive this late in the evening."

I dropped my head forward, flexing my grip on the steering wheel. "I can't leave until morning anyways," I said quietly. "Until after the banks open."

"Why don't you stay here tonight?"

"No." Realizing the abrupt, almost harsh tone, I sighed. I forced a smile as I looked up at her. "No, Jess, I..." I gave an attempt at a laugh - to reassure her that everything was fine. It didn't work. "I just need to be alone for a while."

She nodded, a tight smiled on her lips. "Okay."

Still leaning on the car, she bent down to kiss my cheek. As she pulled back, I caught her chin and drew her closer, tipping her head down to kiss her brow.

"It's not you," I whispered. "I just have to do this alone."

She nodded slightly. "I understand."

"I'll call you in a few days if I'm not back yet. But I should be."

She nodded again, and stepped back from the car, hands in her pockets. "Be careful," she called as I put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. I didn't look back as I took off down the road.

**1973**

I knocked quietly on the door, and stood back enough so that she'd be able to see who it was if she looked through the peep hole. "I don't know if you're here," I called after a long pause with no response. "And even if you are, you don't have to answer. But I figured..."

I took a deep breath, and let it out slow. What was I doing here? I knew I shouldn't be here right now. I felt too... well, I felt too much, period. I hated clients that could do this to me. Hurt, anger, resentment, bitterness... And then the more dangerous emotions - sadness, loneliness, vulnerability. I was vulnerable and I knew it. I shouldn't be here. But the last thing I wanted to do was find another empty hotel room for a few hours until dawn. And I sure as hell wasn't going back to Ellie.

"I haven't seen you in almost a week," I called again through the door, "and I figured I would come see how you were doing." I waited, and dropped my head forward with a sigh as I leaned forward on the door. "But you're probably not even home. I would've called first but I... I didn't." Gee, that was profound.

I glanced back up at the closed door. A part of me was glad that she wasn't answering. A part of me wanted nothing more than to see her. I knew that was dangerous, but that part of me didn't care. I likened the sensation to the feeling of drowning. But if I was drowning, my hands were cuffed behind me, and there was nothing I could do about it. She wasn't answering the door, and I couldn't stand in the walkway all night.

"I guess you're not here."

With a deep, disappointed sigh, I pushed myself up and turned away. Two steps into my retreat, I heard the lock turn. I glanced back as the door opened, and felt the emotions change so suddenly, I almost lost track of them. Fear and relief in equal amounts. I stood still, not moving in either direction as she looked around the door at me. She'd only pulled it open about a foot - just enough to put her head through.

"You're lucky I am here," she whispered. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Sorry," I said quietly, hands in the pockets of my slacks. "I should've called but I..." I sighed again, shoulders rising and falling. "I've been busy."

She studied me carefully for a moment, then finally stepped back, opening the door to let me in. I hesitated. Pushing down the insecurity, I stepped into the apartment. She closed the door behind me. "Feeling guilty, are we?"

"I'm sorry. I meant to call." I forced a smile. "It's just been a long week."

"I'm sure." She locked the door and walked past me. "You still smell like her perfume, you know."

I lowered my head. "Yeah, _I_ can still smell it, so I know it's bad."

She reached up and wiped the lipstick off of my cheek, then the side of my neck. I sighed.

"I've probably got it everywhere."

She smirked.

I wasn't smiling. "It's alright; I already know I'm a mess."

"You can take a shower if you'd like."

I studied her carefully for a moment, considering her motives. She knew how weak I was right now - I was sure of that - and she was lowering my guard, trying to make me comfortable. Feeling vulnerable did not mean that I was stupid. But after all, I'd come here to be comfortable, hadn't I? Come to think of it, I wasn't really sure _why _I was here.

She laughed as she turned away, sensing my confusion. "What's the matter?" she asked as she walked to the sofa and sat back down. "You think I'm going to jump in there with you?"

"I wouldn't mind." Damn it, reverting to what was familiar again. I lowered my head immediately. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said softly. "Habit."

At least she understood. I glanced up again. "Yeah."

She eyed me for a moment. "Well, I don't have anything particularly stylish in my wardrobe that would fit you," she admitted. "But I'm pretty sure I have another clean pair of sweats. I can find them for you if you'd like."

I ran my hand through my hair. Suddenly, there was nothing in the world I wanted so much as a shower. And what the hell did I really care about her motives? The worst that could happen was that we'd fight, or I'd have to divert her attention with sex or some other equally consuming distraction.

_The hell you would... _

I sighed. That didn't matter. It was a stupid and cyclical thought and I had other, more important things on my mind. Like a shower. Right now, the reward ratio greatly outweighed the potential cost. "Thanks," I nodded. "Actually, a shower sounds great."


	29. Chapter Twenty Eight

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

**1973**

I heard the bathroom door open, but Tamika left just as quickly. As I finally stepped out of the shower, I stared for a moment at the sweatpants and T-shirt folded on top of the towel on the counter. As I reached for the towel, I caught a glimpse of the scratches on my arms, and sighed as I shook my head. I knew I should still be there in the hotel, with Ellie. It was both rude and unprofessional that I'd just walked out on her. I'd deal with it in the morning, right before I dropped her off at the gate and waved good riddance.

"Feel better?" Tamika asked as I stepped out into the living room, dressed and clean and much more comfortable than I'd been when I'd showed up. Thirty minutes of standing under the warm water had given me time to sort through my emotions and put them back into their proper place. The fear and feelings of vulnerability had dissipated, and I'd regained my confidence if not my ability to be charming. I was too tired to be charming right now.

"Much better," I sighed. "Thank you."

She noticed the scratches too. "She really did a number on you."

I sighed as I ran a hand through my wet hair, pushing it back. "Don't get me started."

I sat down on the sofa, on the other end from where she was sitting, and leaned forward, my head in my hands. Now that I'd taken care of the immediate problem of washing away the reminders of my client, I realized that I had no idea what I was supposed to do now. I didn't want to talk. Really, I just wanted to sleep for a week or so - until I could convince myself that the past few days had all just been a dream. But if I'd intended to sleep, I should've done it in a hotel room somewhere else.

Hindsight was always 20/20.

I could feel Tamika's eyes on me, over the top of the book she had resting on her knees. But she didn't speak. After a long moment, I heard her shuffle, and the cushions moved. I glanced over in time to see her sit up on her knees, moving toward me. Startled and not sure how to respond, I sat still.

She didn't seem to mind my lack of initiative. Grabbing my shoulder, she pushed me until I was sitting against the back of the sofa, then ducked under my arm, sliding both arms around my waist. I stared at her for a long moment, stunned and confused as she pulled her legs up closer to her, cuddling against me. "Relax," she whispered. "You're not going to figure me out so don't even try."

I laughed quietly at her openness. But if she wasn't being candid... "How about you save us both the trouble and just tell me what you're after."

I suspected that whatever she wanted to know, it had something to do with my client, or where I'd been the past week, but it could just as easily be my childhood best friend or my first kiss. There was no telling what she was searching for at any given moment. She seemed interested in the strangest things. She sometimes caught me by surprise just by the fact that she was looking for information I'd never thought to guard.

"What I'm after?" she chuckled, innocently

I looked down at her, still frozen in place with my arm hovering over her. "You've already figured out that I'm way too tired to watch my words. So you can save the act and just ask me what you want to know. I'll answer you."

She looked up at me with a hurt expression. "I'm not trying to get you to say anything," she answered softly. "You just looked like you needed a hug. Was I wrong?"

I stared at her for a long moment, determined that the expression written on her face was genuine, and forced a tight smile. "Sorry," I whispered, sincerely. I lowered my arm around her shoulder. "No, you weren't wrong."

She lowered her head again and I turned so that she could rest it on my chest. Her hands didn't wander, and there were no pheromones - no attempt at seduction. In fact, it reminded me of a child crawling into her father's lap. Except she wasn't that needy, and I didn't feel like her father. It was just... comfortable. I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the sofa. In the silence that followed, I felt my mind wandering. So this was why I hadn't gone to another hotel room. I was glad I hadn't. This was so much better.

"Why do you do it?" she finally asked, after several long minutes of silence.

"Do what?" I whispered back, eyes still closed. Maybe she was prying, and I didn't care. I really was too tired to argue.

"Your job."

I didn't answer.

She shifted, pulling one hand up closer to her head and resting it on my chest. "You said you don't do it for the money," she reminded me. "And I believe you. So why do you do it?"

"Why do you?"

"Money," she answered immediately. "Plain and simple. But I asked you." She tipped her head up and I opened my eyes to look down at her. "You don't get to avoid the question by turning it back on me."

I smiled. "It was worth a shot." It was also the only thing my tired mind could come up with on such short notice.

She closed her eyes before tipping her head back down. "What is it?" she sighed, her shoulders rising and falling as she breathed deep. "Is it really that humanitarian in you, like Sam says? The one who wants to see everyone have a good time?"

I considered it quietly. I was content. I was relaxed. I was vulnerable, and I didn't even care. Maybe she'd played this whole scene; I'd even seen it coming and she really was very good at it. Maybe I'd had a part in it; I was the one who'd knocked on her door to begin with. Either way, I knew that if I answered her, I was opening myself wide for her to get into my head. Why didn't I care?

"It's simpler than that," I whispered.

"Affection?" she guessed. When I didn't answer, she guessed again. "Love, on any level? Feeling wanted? Needed."

I smiled at her attempts. "You're too complicated, you know that? I said _simpler _than having a good time. How is something like love simpler than that?"

"I didn't say it had to be real love."

I breathed deep, eyes closed, and slouched down a little more, pulling her down with me. I was glad the couch had wide cushions. But even so, she was lying mostly on top of me. I slid both arms around her shoulders, hugging her close. Then I opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

"I don't like to be alone," I finally admitted. "Especially in the dark."

"Now that, I didn't expect," she chuckled. "Of all the things that I would've thought you'd fear, the dark is pretty low on the list."

It took her a minute to realize I wasn't laughing.

She tipped her head up to see my face, and I closed my eyes again. "Loneliness I can see, though."

"I didn't say loneliness," I clarified. "I said being alone. There's a difference."

She paused, confused. "What's the difference?"

"It's simpler." I sighed deeply and opened my eyes again, turning them away. "I can't sleep when I'm alone. I can't relax. I think too much." My voice lowered again, barely a whisper. "I remember too much."

"About what?"

I closed my eyes as the memories came, like it or not. I quickly shoved them back down where they belonged and took in a deep, slow breath. "I don't talk about that."

She let it go, and the darkness gradually faded.

For several full minutes, they lay still and silent. Relaxed and comfortable, I suddenly realized just how easily I could fall asleep right now, right here on her sofa. It was a strange feeling, but one that I found I enjoyed immensely.

"Have you ever been in love?" she finally asked.

I frowned at the question. "You know, everybody asks me that."

She laughed quietly. "I can't imagine why."

"No, I really can't," I answered, honestly. "Why does everybody think there's some incredible story to tell?"

"I don't think it's that at all," she whispered back. "I think it's just a lot of women trying to find a common ground with a man who's so full of charm it's almost impossible to think of him as being... human inside."

"Well, I'm not human inside," I said simply, slightly annoyed by the question.

"Don't shut me out."

The pleading tone - as well as the words themselves - caught me off guard. I glanced down at her. She looked up.

"Shut you out?"

"I'm just asking," she whispered. "I'm not even looking for a particular answer." Her eyes were deep, almost sad. "Just asking..."

I rethought my initial response, the gut reaction to the question, and sighed as I closed my eyes again, relaxing. "There was one girl I knew," I admitted quietly. I let the statement hang for a moment as my mind wandered back over memories long ago subdued. "She disappeared," I finally continued. "Just up and left, and then she was gone. I heard it through the grapevine that she ran off with some other guy."

Tamika didn't answer. I sighed as I felt her fingers trail back and forth lightly on my chest - an innocent touch that felt surprisingly good, even through the shirt. I stared up at the ceiling again. "I guess everything happens for a reason though," I reflected quietly. "I probably would've married her if she'd given me the chance. And my life might be very different now."

"You would've married her and you still say you've never been in love?"

I frowned. "I don't understand love. Not the way that people talk about it." I paused, and sighed deeply. Hesitating on my words, I proceeded with caution into the unfamiliar territory. "It's not... an emotional thing for me. At least, it never has been. I don't know if it could be. If I'm really capable of feeling that."

"You think it's all emotionalism?"

I shrugged. "Well, that's what people seem to mean when they ask if you've been in love. That gut-retching, I-could-just-die-if-this-person-wasn't-there..." I shook my head. "I've never felt that. The whole romance novel, fall in each other's arms, happily ever after type of..." I trailed off with a cynical laugh. "I just... I guess I don't believe in that. And I've sure as hell never felt it."

She didn't answer. Stroking my fingers back and forth on her shoulder, I suddenly thought to consider the fact that I had every right and reason to turn the question back on her. "Have you?"

She was expecting it. I could tell by the way she sighed, curling in on herself a little and sliding her hands under her head. "Once. Briefly."

"What went wrong?"

She hesitated. "The draft."

Damn it...

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she sighed. She glanced up at me. "He never came back."

"Where was he stationed?"

"I don't know. He didn't..." She sighed again, and shifted uncomfortably. I let go of her shoulder in case she wanted to move, but she didn't go far. She was just fidgeting. "He didn't live long enough to tell me. He went in on a plane to Saigon and before I even got a single letter from me, they sent his body back. Said he died in a shelling."

I looked down at her, and saw her frown deeply, fire flashing in her eyes. "He never should've been over there in the first place."

As with every other time this topic came up - without fail - I had nothing to say to her. Everyone had opinions about the war. But my opinions belonged to a soldier that had frozen to death on a very cold night in North Carolina - a soldier who would've gladly given life or limb for the cause and in return for his service was thanked with a court martial. The deep seated feelings of betrayal would never be far from that soldier's mind. It was a good thing he'd died in that log cabin in the middle of nowhere, shirtless and shivering and starving.

I pushed that thought far from my mind.

"Did you lose anybody?" she asked quietly. "Anyone that you knew?"

A new wave of memories hit me before I'd even managed to force the last batch down, and I closed my eyes as I swallowed hard as they rang in my mind.

_ "Is his brain messed up?"_

_ "As far as brain damage? It's hard to tell." The Army doctor had no answers. _

_ "Is there anything you can do for him?" I asked, staring at the man who was huddled in a ball on the edge of the hospital bed._

_ "He's not in any pain. Right now, he's not coherent most of the time."_

_ "Does he even hear us?"_

_ "Oh, he can hear you. It's just not clear how much he understands."_

_ I felt a pain in my chest that I'd not felt in a long time as I stared at the blank expression on the helicopter pilot's face. "Wonder if he even remembers. If he remembers anything."_

_ Hannibal's hand on my shoulder almost made me jump. "Maybe it's better if he doesn't."_

"Templeton?"

I shook my head to clear it and took in a deep breath. "Um..." My voice was shaky. I didn't like that sound. It was too raw, too emotional. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. I had uh..."

_"I had a dog and his name was Blue..." I sang the song with a feeling of detachment that few other soldiers could manage. "Hey Blue, you're a good dog, you..."_

_ Murdock didn't sing. He drank._

_ "You know, Murdock, if you go to pieces every time you see a man go down, you're not going to last very long." _

_ "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His tone was a warning._

_ "It's not just bullets that kill you, you know. And you're no good to us dead." _

I cleared my throat and closed my eyes, taking in another slow, calming breath. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she answered quietly.

I breathed a few more times, then stared back up at the ceiling. "No, uh... I had a brother who was a helicopter pilot," I finally continued, a little more steadily. "He... He lived through it but... He's in the psych ward of the VA hospital in Los Angeles." I glanced down at her. "When I went to go see him before we..." I stopped myself before I explained too much. "Well, when I went to go see him, he barely recognized me."

Her eyes were full of compassion. Not the fake, superficial kind, either. "I'm sorry."

I swallowed hard, and shook my head, closing my eyes again. "Like you said. It's not your fault."

"Bad memories, though."

It took me a lot longer than I would've liked to get those bad memories back under control. That was a dangerous topic. It was going up there on the list of things we would not talk about again. I couldn't think about that now. Not now, not here. There was nothing I could do for Murdock. If there was, all of the demons in hell couldn't have kept me from that hospital. But I was no doctor, and a doctor was what Murdock needed - not a friend with a court martial and a prison escape on his military record.

"You ever just wish you were born in another time?" she finally asked, her tone lighter now. "Another decade?"

I was glad for something else to focus on, even if it took me several long seconds to shift gears. "Well, given the decades before, I don't think I'd want to go back."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we haven't had indoor plumbing for all that long. And I wouldn't want to live without that."

She laughed.

I forced a smiled as I put my arms around her again. "Every decade since the turn of the century has had its share of suffering. World War I, the Depression, World War II, Korea, Vietnam... We haven't had a pleasant decade in a long time."

"I hear the 20s were nice."

"Prohibition," I smirked.

She chuckled again. "Wouldn't have bothered me all that much. I hardly drink."

"Lucky you."

She sighed deeply. "It makes you wonder though," she reflected. "What kinds of things that our children and children's children will have to face."

I considered it quietly, to myself.

"I think my greatest fear is that a war like that would come here. On our soil."

"Like what?"

"Like any of them." She paused for a long moment. "Like Vietnam."

My eyes opened again, slowly, and I stared up at the ceiling quietly as my thoughts drifted. "No," I finally whispered.

"No?"

I breathed slow, deep. Then, finally, I shook my head, staring at the shadows moving across the ceiling without seeing them. "We might have another war on our soil someday. But it won't be anything like Vietnam."

She was quiet. Several full minutes later, I felt her sigh deeply. "I'm tired."

"Mmm." I was tired, too. And quite comfortable.

She tipped her head up, moving her hand to rest against my chest. "You want to put me to bed again?"

I glanced down at her and smiled faintly. "I guess so. Though I'm pretty comfortable right here."

She sat up, dragging herself to her feet. "You can come back and sleep on my couch if you want," she invited, reaching a hand down to me. I still hadn't moved.

I stared for a moment at her outstretched hand, then took it carefully as I pulled myself to my feet. "Stay the night?" I teased. "Tamika, the neighbors will talk."

She laughed. "Oh, the neighbors are already talking; trust me."

I held her hand as I walked beside her, down the short hall and into the bedroom. I left the light off as I turned down the bed and looked back at her, waiting for her to climb in. She did so quietly, and pulled the blankets up around her own chin. I smiled faintly as I leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Tamika."

She didn't answer, and I rose slowly, turning back to the door.

"You can stay," she invited before I stepped out of the room.

I glanced back at her. "I intend to. I don't really feel much like finding a hotel room at this time of-"

"No," she interrupted. "I mean you can _stay_."

I stared at her. It took me a few seconds to even figure out her meaning. Once I did, I discovered that I was terribly amused by it. I turned to face her fully, leaning on my arm against the doorframe.

"Are you propositioning on me, Mika?"

"No," she answered quietly, unassumingly. "But you don't like to be alone. Especially in the dark."

For a long moment, I just stared at her. Then, finally, I lowered my arm to my side and took a few steps closer to the bed. She pulled the blankets down a little, then turned onto her other side, facing the wall. It wasn't cold or standoffish. She was just setting her boundaries, and I respected them. I didn't fully understand them, but I respected them.

Silently, I slipped into the narrow, twin-sized bed and pressed in close against her back. I circled an arm around her waist and slid the other one under the pillow as I closed my eyes. Within moments, listening to her soft, slow breathing, I was asleep.


	30. Chapter Twenty Nine

**CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE**

**1986**

I hadn't opened the safety deposit box in almost five years. The papers inside were yellowed with age. Real documents and forged ones alike. Military records that had lost their meaning the moment I'd turned my back on Fort Bragg. Graded school papers and love notes that had been worthless long before that. I'd put them in the box before heading to Vietnam, and paid the box for ten years. I couldn't justify throwing them away when I'd returned and found that they simply held no more sentimental value anymore.

I set the contents of the box aside, and reached for the open envelopes in the bottom of the box. I knew what I was looking for. It only took me a few seconds to find it. The first and only mailed letter I'd received from Sam was one of only a three tokens I had from Vegas. If I'd had more time to prepare, I might have kept more. Not that I had ever felt the lack of not having mementos from that period of my life.

I checked to make sure that the photograph was still inside before I put the envelope in my pocket, beside the notes from Tamika. Then I replaced the other items in the box, and shut it quietly.

I didn't know where to find Mika. The apartments she had lived in had been bulldozed long ago. A new structure had been built in their place, enough years before to have fallen into disrepair. If she was still in Vegas, I still didn't know where to even start looking. I didn't even have a picture of her - even from thirteen years ago. I didn't know where she'd worked, or exactly _what _she'd worked although I certainly had an idea. In fact, the only thing that I really knew about her was that she wasn'tfrom Georgia. That left 49 other states, and finding out where she was from still didn't guarantee that I'd be any closer to finding where she was now.

There was a part of me that was kicking and screaming at the mere consideration that I would go through all this trouble to find her. It was twelve years ago, for crying out loud. She probably wouldn't even remember me. But that wasn't true, and I knew it. She'd remember me, just as I remembered her. For years, I'd remembered her - somewhere way in the back of my mind, where no one was allowed to poke and prod. I'd never spoken to anyone about her - denied her altogether, in fact. I'd never known her, never loved her. I'd never even bedded her - at least not in any way that mattered.

Of course, I hadn't bedded Leslie, either.

But Leslie was easier to talk about - which was not to say that it was easy. The difference was, what I had felt for her was understandable, justifiable. The way we had parted was painful, to be sure. But at least it hadn't been my fault. I hadn't abandoned her. I hadn't felt any guilt.

Tamika was different. The emotions that rose up inside of me when I saw that letter written in her hand were unexpected and powerful. If only for a brief exchange - just long enough to apologize now that an apology meant nothing - I had to find her.

And the only way that I knew to find her was to find Samantha.

**1973**

I wasn't awake yet, but already I was aware that something was wrong. It was dark. My arm was around a woman, and it took me a moment to figure out what was wrong. She was dreaming, and it wasn't a pleasant dream. "Mika..."

I remembered her name before I remembered where I was. Maybe more importantly, how I'd ended up here. Still fully dressed and huddled together on the twin-sized bed, I vaguely remembered the night before. She'd asked me to stay. That was why I was here.

"Tamika, you're dreaming," I whispered. I tightened my arm around her waist, pulling her back against me. She thrashed, and I raised my head a little to whisper right into her ear. "Mika, shh... You're dreaming."

Suddenly, with a gasp, she stilled. I loosened my hold on her, knowing she'd woken up and not sure how I'd be received. For a long moment, the only sound was the quiet gasps for breath. She was shaking, and I slid my arm around her again, hesitantly.

"You okay?"

She nodded, but didn't speak.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No!"

The enthusiasm of her response was almost enough to make me jump. She was still on edge, the fear-adrenaline still coursing through her. I let her come down a little before I spoke again.

"Let me know if there's anything you need from me."

She shuddered in a few uneven breaths, curling up into a ball. "Just hold me?" she managed weakly. She sounded just like a scared child. "Please?"

I had almost forgotten what that protective instinct felt like. I'd faked it for so long with so many women that I almost didn't recognize it as a genuine response. Tightening my grip, I moved in close behind her and slid an arm underneath her head.

"It's okay," I whispered into her hair, feeling myself slip back into sleep as I whispered against the back of her neck. "I've got you..."

_ "...just relax. Close your eyes."_

_ "I'm scared," the teenage girl whispered, trembling in my arms as I held her close. Crammed into a spot too small for either of us - let alone both - we lay perfectly still as the NVA soldiers searched the area. _

_ "It's okay to be scared. But right now, I need you to be very, very quiet..."_

_ Loud shouts above me - men calling in Vietnamese. The sound of AK fire. She whimpered and I pressed my lips closer to her ear. "I'm going to get you home, safe and sound," I promised. "I just need you to trust me. Let me take care of you..."_

_ I watched the shadows move as they searched. If they found us, there would be nowhere to run. It would lead to a fate worse than death, I knew. I had to keep her calm. "Just listen to my voice. Listen to my voice and everything will be okay..."_

"I wonder what it was like."

The unfamiliar voice snapped me out of my foggy state like a slingshot, and I blinked a few times as I tried to reacquaint myself with my surroundings. "What it was like?" I asked quietly. Had I been asleep? Dreaming? God help me if I started dreaming about the war again. Was that just a memory or was I actually dreaming it? Confused and disoriented, I tried to sort through my thoughts.

"Over there. What it was really like."

"Over...?"

"Vietnam."

"Oh." I shrugged off her implied question - the open invitation for a discussion I didn't want to get into - but only until I remembered that I still wasn't sure if I'd been awake and thinking or asleep and dreaming just moments before. And if I'd been asleep, there was no telling what I might have said.

"All the media," she continued quietly, "they painted this picture of a relatively peaceful people that we decided to go over there and terrorize. But it wasn't like that, was it?"

"I wouldn't know," I answered cautiously. "But I don't think that they were just innocently minding their own business."

I waited to see if she'd call me on it. She didn't.

"They killed my Danny," she finally whispered. "I can't forgive them for that. Maybe it's wrong to wish that we'd... slaughtered every last one of them." The vicious tone that she ended in didn't suit her. It made me frown deeply. "But how do you forgive someone for something like that? Even if they were just innocently minding their own business when they did it."

I sighed at the sarcasm. "I don't think that they were just a peaceful people minding their own business," I answered quietly. "They weren't innocently slaughtered. And they didn't innocently slaughter us, either. And I think there's a lot of soldiers - volunteer and drafted alike - who would agree with me."

"I just want to believe that he died for something. Instead of just... to be a statistic."

"At least you got his body back. A lot of families didn't." I knew my tone was lacking sympathy, but I just didn't have the energy or the mental clarity for it right now. Or the will to talk about Vietnam.

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she turned to me. I let her go, moving back to give her room. As she settled on her back next to me, our eyes locked. I knew the question was coming before she asked it. "Where were you stationed?"

I sighed deeply, and lowered my eyes away from hers. I could deny it. She might believe me; but I doubted it. I could tell her to mind her own business - that it wasn't something I talked about. Or I could answer her. At the moment, I didn't like any of my options.

"How long have you known?" I asked quietly.

"Quite a while."

"How? Or was it just a hunch?"

"You slipped when you said something about pinning a medal on your pillow. Only a wounded soldier would think of that."

"Medal?" I asked, confused. My brain was still foggy from sleep.

"Right after you sat in my bathroom and stitched your own arm."

"Oh." I sighed. "That."

She was quiet for a moment. "So are you going to answer me?"  
>"I haven't decided."<p>

She chuckled, and raised one hand to brush my hair away from my face. "Come on," she prodded.

"Officially, I was-" I took a deep breath. Up until now, I hadn't even considered how much of my story I would tell a civilian. All of those lectures on the meaning of "top secret" and threats of a court martial seemed both irrelevant and anticlimactic to me now. But anything I told her opened up the door for conversation. And there wasn't much I was willing to discuss - with her or anyone.

"I was officially in Da Nang," I finally finished, quietly. "But I went all over."

"What did you do?"

"I was with 5th Special Forces."

"Green Beret?" I could hear the surprise in her voice.

"Yeah."

"Well, no wonder you knew how to fight."

I shifted uneasily. "Yeah, well..."

She was quiet for a few seconds, stroking my hair. "So what did you do over there?"

It was the expected - and dreaded - question that I hadn't yet figured out how to answer. For several full minutes, I didn't answer. I just lay still and let her run her fingers through my hair. Unexpectedly, she curled them around the back of my head and pulled me closer. I tipped my head up to look at her, confused, and she laughed quietly.

"Relax," she whispered, guiding my head to her chest.

I shifted, moving a few inches toward the foot of the bed so that I was more comfortable. Still stroking my hair, fingernails lightly raking my scalp, she curled her other arm around my shoulders, cradling me.

I was surprised by the emotions fostered by the embrace. The flicker of indignation; was she patronizing me? The feelings of warmth and comfort; was this what a mother's arms felt like? A wave of fear; I felt way too vulnerable right now. And an unfamiliar burning deep in my chest that told me I wanted to be closer to her - as close as I could get because this felt _really _good. I listened to each of them, to all of them, and to none of them. Finally, as her chest rose and fell beneath me, I closed my eyes and relaxed.

"I was in a Special Operations Group," I whispered. "Or Studies and Observation Group, whichever you want to call it. It was a team that... We did reconnaissance stuff. Tried to figure out where they were, where they were going, how they were getting there. We also did a lot of... odd jobs."

"Like what?"

"Like... we'd go to one camp and try to help them fortify, organize. We'd rescue POWS and try to take NVA soldiers alive. Or find pilots that got shot down. Or try to make friends with the Montagnards."

"The who?"

I sighed. "They were sort of the native... hill people. We tried to get them into the camps because when the VC would come through, they'd..." I trailed off, opening my eyes again and staring into the darkness.

_ "Man, I thought I'd seen some shit." Murdock's voice was shaky. "But this..."_

_ "It must have happened early this morning," I answered. The smell of the burned village, the slaughtered civilians rotting in the thick, humid jungle heat. I forced myself to concentrate on the pilot who was walking beside me. Murdock had probably not seen a village that had been ransacked by the NVA. _

_ "You uh..." His grip on his pistol was shaky. "You walk into this often?"_

_ "Too often." I winced as I realized I'd just stepped into a large pool of coagulated blood. _

_ "Is it always like this?"_

_ "No." I knelt next to the body of a man, feeling for a pulse. "If it had been a Vietnamese village instead of a Montagnard one, it would've been worse." I knew the instant my fingers touched the man's flesh that he was gone. The familiar feel of a corpse. _

_ Murdock shook his head as he looked around him. He was trying not to get sick. I could read the look well. "Why the hell did they do this?"_

"Templeton?"

I blinked a few times, clearing my vision of the bloody, hopeless scene. But I could still smell the smoke, the decay. I could still hear the hiss of the insects, the flies that gathered on the mangled bodies. I shut my eyes hard, forcing the memories back down into the deep, dark hole inside of myself where they belonged. Where I could deal with them later - not now.

"You okay?"

"I'm okay."

I took a slow, calming breath, and opened my eyes again, concentrating on the shifting shadows the curtains made against the ceiling.

"You sure?"

"It's just um..." I shook my head slightly, but didn't pull away from her. "I know that... there was a lot of media hype about the American soldiers over there, raping and murdering and plundering." I paused briefly, and licked my lips to bring moisture back to my mouth. "And I don't doubt that it happened. That kind of place can make anybody go crazy and do things that..."

Again, I trailed off, and shut my eyes again. I suddenly realized that my muscles had grown rigid, and took a few breaths, forcing them to unclench, paying attention to the soft stroking of her hand over my hair. "Anyways, that's not what I saw," I continued quietly. "That was never what I saw. I saw an army that would do things like that to their own people. And it was a goddamn bloody civil war."

I swallowed hard, pausing for a long moment to form my thoughts into words, considering them carefully. "And maybe you're right and we had no business being there. But it wouldn't have made it any less sickening if we weren't. We just wouldn't have been there to see it." I breathed slow, in and out. "War is... War is hell. It is the most evil and wicked thing on the face of this earth. And people are..."

I never finished.

"Your brother," she whispered after a long silence. "The helicopter pilot. Do you ever see him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

I breathed deep, slow, bringing my thoughts back to the present, out of the God-forsaken jungle. "Well, he's in LA and I'm here, for one."

"That's not a good enough reason."

"Can you think of a better one?"

She laughed quietly. "I know you said I barely remembered you. Maybe it would help if you were there."

I considered that. I told myself it wasn't really feasible - not at the VA with the military police looking for me. But I knew damn well that I'd done things and gone places before that weren't feasible. If I was honest, that wasn't the real reason I hadn't gone, hadn't called. The truth was... I just didn't want to know how much worse he'd gotten. It wasn't how I wanted to remember him.

Not that memories of clearing burned villages with him were much better.

I took in a deep breath, and let it out slow as I pulled away from her, propping myself up on my elbow. "Get some sleep, Mika," I whispered, reaching up to touch the side of her face. "We've still got a few hours before morning."

"Don't leave?"

I smiled faintly, sadly. "I'll leave in the morning. Early, though. I've got to get to the airport."


	31. Chapter Thirty

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

**1986**

The house was huge and elegant, looming over the mouth of the San Francisco bay at the top of a cliff. I parked on the street, and stared for a long moment at the house, checking the address again. It was the address on the letter Samantha had sent me at the beginning of their arrangement in Vegas. If I was lucky, she'd still live here. If not, at least it gave me a place to start.

I rang the doorbell and stepped back, watching the windows to see if anyone looked out. It only took a few seconds for the door to open, and a short, heavyset Mexican lady peeked out. "Can I help you?"

I smiled, and withdrew the photograph from my jacket pocket. "Hi. I'm looking for Samantha Harding. Does she still live here?" I held up the photo.

The woman nodded. "Yes. Come in." She opened the door wider, ushering me into the foyer. "What is your name? I will tell her you are here."

"Templeton Peck," I answered with a smile, slipping the photo back into my pocket.

"I will tell her. You wait right here?"

I nodded. "Sure."

As she disappeared up the steps that ran along the wall to my right, I watched her go. Once she'd disappeared around the corner, I took a moment to survey my surroundings. The layout of the house looked simple. Sitting rooms to both the left and right of the foyer, wide open living area in front of me with an entire wall of windows looking out to a large in-ground pool. The dining room and kitchen were probably to the left of the living area. A hallway to the right led to bathrooms, and to offices, studies, and spare rooms. Upstairs floors held the same. The house had no fewer than ten such rooms. Vaulted ceilings and expensive décor, it was exactly what I would have expected from someone like Samantha. I wondered if her husband - if she was still married - had any say at all in the construction and decoration of this home.

"Templeton Peck."

I glanced up, to the top of the stairs, and smiled as I saw her - older, but no less maintained. In a silk robe, her wet hair pulled up loosely behind her, she looked both comfortable and beautiful. "Samantha," I greeted with a smile.

"I must admit, I certainly never expected you to knock on my door." She descended the stairs slowly and I lifted a hand as she approached to escort her down the last few steps. "And still a perfect gentleman."

I kissed her fingers lightly, and released her hand. "The years haven't aged you in the least."

"Nor you." She laughed. "You could probably still pass for a twenty-year-old if you dressed the part."

I chuckled quietly. "That might be pushing it a little."  
>"Please," she gestured toward the living area. "Can I get you anything?"<p>

"Water."

She hooked my arm and started walking. There was another woman in the dining room with a dust rag - much younger. I suspected that the two were mother and daughter. "Silvia, will you get our guest a glass of ice water please?"

She nodded, and hurried to the kitchen as Samantha led me to the oversized sofa and sat down. "So what happened to you?" she asked as I sat beside her. "One day you were there and the next you just stopped returning calls." Brows raised, she smiled at me. "And then I hear rumors that you're a military fugitive and your name is all over the papers."

"Sorry." I smiled back. "Not at all how I intended for you to find that out."

She laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm sure you didn't intend for me to find it out at all."

I shrugged. "I knew I couldn't stay in Vegas forever. Sooner or later, they would find me." Silvia returned with the glass of water, and I took it with a smile and a quick "thank you." After a quick drink, I rested it on my leg. "It ended up being sooner than later. I didn't have time to tie up loose ends."

"So I heard."

I looked at her, and read the smile and the look in her eyes. She already knew where I was going with this. "Actually, that's why I'm here." I took another drink, then leaned forward to set the glass on the coffee table. "I left some loose ends... very much untied."

"Oh, I know you did." The tone was almost like anger, but so latent and so far buried under years of healing time that it was impossible to tell for sure. Buried, too, under a smile. "And I'm just dying to hear the reason why you left her so goddamn heartbroken."

**1973**

To my ears - very much asleep at 6:00 in the morning - the sound that awoke me was remarkably like gunfire. I found myself immediately and frantically reaching for the gun that was supposed to be under my pillow, and when I didn't find it, I simply hit the floor. That was where I woke up, blinking at my surroundings as I tried to figure out where the hell I was and what that sound was.

"Miss Ryans?"

"Jesus," she mumbled under her breath, sitting up on the bed. I looked up at her, bewildered as she pushed her hair back. "Who the hell is that?"

"Miss Ryans! Open up!"

Not gunshot. Someone was at the door. I pulled myself up, using the bed for support as I crawled back up to the mattress. "Well, whoever it is," I slurred, "they're persistent."

She stumbled out of the bed and into the hallway, through the open door. Lying on my side on the bed, I covered my face with my hand, trying to wake up. Who in their right mind...?

"Just a minute!" Tamika called over the pounding. "I'm coming." The momentary lull in the pounding gave me a chance to look at the clock before closing my eyes again. "Who is it?" Tamika demanded loudly.

"Military police, ma'am! Open up!"

My eyes shot open. Oh, fucking hell.

I was out of bed at about the same time the front door opened. "Miss Ryans?"

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"We have a warrant to search these premises."

Out the window? I looked. MP vehicles outside. I'd be seen. Attic access?

"Search these premises for _what_!" Tamika yelled. But she had no say in the matter. Before she could protest, there were inside.

"Search everywhere!"

Attic access was in the closet. I stood on my toes, pushed the plywood cover up and aside, then grabbed onto the edges of the opening and, with as little noise as I could possibly manage, pulled myself up and into the attic.

"Oh, no you don't!" I smiled, momentarily distracted from my efforts by the mental picture of Tamika pulling herself up to every last fraction of her 5'9 frame to stare down Colonel Lynch. "Now, I demand to know what the hell this is all about!"

"We received a tip that you might be harboring a military fugitive here." Lynch wasn't used to being challenged.

The attic was already hot and stale, and the muscles in my arms were screaming at the strain of pulling myself up through the narrow hole in the ceiling. But I was situated quickly, and I carefully set the cover back in place as I lay flat on the plywood planks and listened to the muffled voices below.

"Well, your tip was wrong. I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Step aside, please."

"There's no one here." She was protecting me. She was also counting on the fact that I'd gotten out. I was glad I could oblige her. "Only me at 6:00 in the morning; imagine that!"

And she was pissed.

"Good God, do you think he could hide between the pages of a book?" she yelled. "What the hell are you doing to my sofa!"

"Sorry, ma'am," the unfamiliar voice answered. "We'll put it all back."

"Seriously, boy, in the sofa?" she cried in sarcastic disbelief.

I smiled.

It didn't take them long to determine that the apartment was empty. They checked the closet, but never thought to look up. I had only to lie back and wait for them to pack up and go home.

"Satisfied now?"

"Whose are these?"

"My boyfriend's," Tamika retorted. "Is there a problem with that?"

Had to be my clothes.

"They're exactly the same size that our fugitive wears."

"Well, isn't that a coincidence."

"Miss Ryans, have you ever seen this man?"

Long pause. I shut my eyes. The moment of truth.

"No," she answered confidently. "Who is he?"

I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"His name is Templeton Peck. And he's wanted for robbery and treason. Take another look."

Another long pause.

"Nope!" she finally declared. "Haven't seen him. Now get the hell out of my house before I file a complaint for you harassing me."

"Well, if you do see me, ma'am, I'd like you to call me immediately."

"Oh, I surely will. 'Cause boy, I'm just dying to help you after this pleasant little wakeup call."

"He's considered armed and dangerous, ma'am."

"Well, I guess it's a damn good thing I haven't seen him then, huh?"

"There's also a reward."

She paused. "Oh yeah? How much?"

Oh, hell.

"Ten thousand dollars. For information leading to his arrest."

"Well, I'll surely keep it in mind. Now if you'll excuse me. I have to go to work in a couple hours. So get the hell out!"

I heard the door slam, and moved immediately. I was sure they wouldn't have gone without leaving behind a few mementos, and the last thing I wanted was for her to be heard looking for me. I had just started checking the dresser when she stepped into the bedroom, hands on her hips. "What in the -"

I held up a hand to quiet her and touched the finger of my other hand to my lips. She watched, silent, as I circled the room, rummaging through all the nooks and crannies. I knew she wanted to ask what I was doing, but I kept a hand up, reminding her to be silent.

Her eyes widened at my nerve as I opened the bedside table drawer. "Wha-"

"Shh..."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't -"

"Shh..."

_There _it was.

I withdrew a small black device from the drawer. It had a wire attached to it, and fit easily in the palm of my hand. Her eyes went wide, then rolled back in her head. "Sweet Mary, mother of..."

I touched her lips as I passed, taking the box to the bathroom. She stood a step behind me as I set it carefully in the sink, and turned the water on. It sizzled, and died. I left it there, and guided her back into the bedroom by her arm, closing the door carefully behind me. I swept the entire room before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

She tipped her head as she stood in the center of the room, arms across. For a long moment, she didn't speak - only stared. Then, finally, she sighed. "So I guess it is your real name."

"I told you it was," I answered simply.

I flopped back on the bed, covering my eyes with my hand. With a deep sigh, she took a few steps closer to me and sat down slowly. "You know, it's kind of stupid to use your real name if the police are looking for you."

"Military police," I corrected. "Not quite the same thing. What did you tell them?" I had to know if I could really trust her. She couldn't know what I had or hadn't heard.

"That I haven't seen you." She eyed me carefully. "You're worth ten thousand dollars, you know."

Rule out the money motive, on her part. That was a very good sign.

"That's the kind of thing that just makes you feel... appreciated."

"Robbery and treason?" she continued, ignoring me. "What did you do? Rob a bank?"

Oh, the irony in sarcasm. "Yes."

She glared at me. "Don't play games with me. I don't like lying to the police. Even the military police."

I sat up, then stood. "I told you, yes." I walked to the window and looked out just in time to see the MP cars pull away from the building. I needed to get out of here before they came back. And I was sure they would be back.

"What do you mean, yes?"

"Yes, I robbed a bank."

She stared at me as it slowly dawned on her that I wasn't laughing at the sarcasm. "You're serious?"

"The Bank of Hanoi. In North Vietnam." I turned back to her, wringing my hands. "Do you have a cigarette? I could really use a cigarette."

"Why on earth did you rob a bank?"

I turned away again, sighing deeply. "We were under orders," I explained. "It was supposed to help end the war. Cut off the enemy's money and you cut off their supplies."

She blinked, stunned. Was she really hearing what she was hearing? "So is that why you don't do this for the money? You don't need it because you robbed a bank?"

"I didn't get any money out of the bank job."

"What did you get out of it?"

"A court martial." I hid my face. I didn't want to talk about this. I _really _didn't want to talk about this.

"Funny, Templeton. But I just lied to the police for you. The least you could do is explain."

I spun. "I did explain!"

The flare of anger was familiar, and it felt too good. I put my head down as I took in a deep breath, reining it back in and tightening the leash. "I'm sorry," I whispered, running a hand through my hair. "It's..." I shook my head. "I'm sorry."

She didn't speak.

Regaining my composure, I took a few steps closer to her and sat down, hands between my knees. "My team and I, we robbed a bank," I said quietly. "We brought the money back and the officer, the colonel, who'd given us the orders had been killed in a shelling. There was no one around to verify that he told our One-Zero - our team leader - to rob the bank So it looks like we just decided to do it on our own."

She was quiet for a moment. "You ever think that it's possible?" she finally asked.

"What's possible?"

"If the only one who saw the orders was your team leader, ever think that maybe he...?"

I stared at her. It took a few seconds to even make sense of her words. "No," I finally answered, stunned at the mere proposition that Hannibal might have forged the orders. "To be perfectly honest, the thought has never crossed my mind."

She looked away. "Just asking," she recovered quickly.

I stood, and paced a few steps - across the room and back.

"So what happens now?" she asked. "Who was that guy?"

"His name is Colonel Lynch. I runs the prison at Fort Bragg. Where we escaped from."

Her eyes widened. "You escaped from prison?"

"Yeah. We all did. My team."

"How many?"

"Three of us."

She stared at me, jaw dropped. Finally, she shook her head to clear it and put her hand against her forehead. "So now you...?" she prodded.

I didn't answer.

"You move on to the next city?" she suggested. "Jesus, Templeton, at least don't use your real name next time." She frowned as she watched me pace back and forth. "I can't decide whether you're just being stupid or if it has something to do with that impenetrable ego of yours. So arrogant as to think they couldn't catch you even if you took insane risks."

I stopped at the window and put both hands over my face, running them back into my hair. Insane risks. Life itself was an insane risk now...

**1986**

"With the way that my relationship was - and is - with my team, there are certain things that I would rather they didn't know. What I was doing in Vegas is one of them. Before I left, there wasn't time to get away, say farewells, leave a forwarding address."

"You can't really expect me to believe that."

I sighed. "Sam, the woman I was with on the night that I had to leave, I left her in a hotel room with over a thousand dollars worth of heroin and never got paid. There was _no _time. Hannibal showed up at the door and that was the end of it. We barely had time for a drink before we were using the back door to try and get out of town."

"You never called," Samantha accused. "Never wrote. Never let anyone know what the hell was going on."

"The military knew that I was involved with Mika. Contacting her would've only put her in jeopardy. She'd already lied to them once for me. And if they could've proven that she did it - that she hid me from them - they could've arrested her for harboring a known fugitive."

"She didn't know you were a fugitive. Hell, I didn't know you were a fugitive."

"She knew once they told her."

Samantha looked away, sighing deeply. "Why didn't you ever contact me, then?" she asked. "The military wasn't watching _me_."

"I didn't want to cause trouble with your husband."

"And you expect me to believe that you couldn't have found a way around that? Or that you couldn't have just waited for the heat to die down before you got back in touch with her?"

"I'm sorry."

"You should be!" Samantha rose to her feet and walked a few steps before turning back. "Do you have any idea the damage you caused to that girl? How she... she spiraled down after you left?"

My eyes followed Samantha as she paced back and forth, but I didn't move. "Because of you," she ranted, "because of whatever... whatever stupid things you told her about your job - and I don't even have any idea what all it was you said to her because I sure can't imagine it - do you know that she got into the sex industry? Selling herself in... in... in movies and photos and to perverts in the -" She cut off abruptly and turned to glare at me. "Jesus, Templeton, what did you tell her? Did you tell her it would be fun?"

I looked away. "I didn't tell her to do any of that."

"Well, she did. And it was because of you!"

"Did she say it was?" I asked quietly, glancing up at her again.

"She didn't have to!" Samantha's voice lowered to a growl. "Before she met you, she had a good, _respectable _job as a secretary."

I studied Sam's face. She really believed that, and I wasn't going to correct her. It wasn't my place.

"And you came into her life - and damn it, I feel responsible for that - and you just destroyed her. You broke her heart, you left her feeling so worthless when... She lost her husband in the war, did she tell you that?"

"She didn't tell me they were married," I said quietly.

"She said she'd never love again. And then you...! You...!" She spun away from me again and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes.

I bit my tongue. The truth of the matter was a little more complicated and a little less my fault. She'd _paid me _to make Tamika fall in love with me. The fact that the money hadn't meant anything to me in the end didn't make it any less of a point that sooner or later, that girl's heart was bound to be broken. _"She wants to buy happiness. She wants to buy it for me." _The words echoed in my mind. I understood them now, in a way that I hadn't back then. _"She doesn't understand that... it doesn't work that way." _She'd really thought that she could pay me to love her? To never leave her?

I held my head in my hand. Jesus, what a mess.

"Listen, Sam..." I paused for a long time, gathering and focusing my thoughts. Then I looked back up at her. "I just want to talk to her. To apologize. She has a right to be mad, and you do too. And I'm sorry." I rose to my feet and crossed the few steps to Samantha. She was hiding her eyes, head down, maybe crying. I placed my hands on her shoulders gently. "I just want to see her," I whispered. "Please."

Samantha took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling. When she looked up again, there were tears in her eyes. "Fine," she whispered as the first tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. I reached up instantly and instinctively to brush them away. Her lower lip trembled as she continued softly. "I'll take you to her personally. And then I don't want to see you again."


	32. Chapter Thirty One

**CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE**

**1973**

"You really should go," Tamika said, still sitting on the edge of the bed where she had been watching me in silence for several minutes now. "You should get out of town."

I was still staring out the window. I was looking for MP vehicles, yes. But more than that, I was gathering my thoughts. It had been fifteen minutes since Lynch had come and gone. I needed to leave - whether to go pick up my client from the airport or to find a vehicle and get the hell out of town. I needed to decide which, and I didn't have much time.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Are you kidding me?" She laughed, but it was without humor, laced with disbelief. "You're a wanted man! Somebody tipped them off that you were here of all places. They'll find you, Templeton. If they even knew to come to my apartment... they've got more than a random sighting."

"I guess you'll have to come see me from now on."

"I would rather you left."

I shrugged. "Well, you don't _have _to come see me. I won't force you."

She stared at me. "I'll be coming to see you in _prison _if you stay here!"

"I have to stay here."

"Why?"

"Because it's the only place that Hannibal knows to find me."

"Who's Hannibal?"

"He's our team leader."

"And you think he'll come find you?"

"I think if he ever needs me, he knows where to find me."

"Well, if it's that important to you, maybe you can find him."

"I don't know where I'd even start looking."

"Templeton!"

Finally, I turned from the window and looked at her. She was staring at me with a look of confused horror at the prospect that I wouldn't take this opportunity to run like hell. I sighed as I crossed the room and sat down next to her, reaching up to touch the side of her face. "Mika, I'll be fine," I said softly. I gave a slight smirk as I read the look in her eyes. "You're not actually worried about me, are you?"

She turned away from my hand, but didn't speak.

I sighed. "Look, I've..." Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the clock. It was almost seven. I needed to get moving if I was going to have time to make it back to my hotel, change, and get my client to breakfast and the airport. Especially if I was going to have to be careful to avoid Colonel Lynch while I did it.

"I've got a good life here," I continued quietly. "I like this place. I like you." I grabbed her chin, turning her head until I could look in her eyes again. "There's nothing better for me anywhere else."

"Except freedom."

"He won't catch me. I know how to be careful, and a lot of people come and go here. I'll just need to stay away from the locals. The tourists won't be able to tell him anything. As long as you don't tell him where to look, he won't catch me."

She stared at me for a long moment, then gave a tight, forced smile. "I don't know, Templeton. Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money."

I laughed, letting go of her chin as I stood up. "Tell you what. I'll give you ten thousand dollars not to tell him."

This time, she was the one who snickered. "You don't have to buy me. And if you did, you couldn't afford me."

"Oh ho!" I laughed. "Who's the one with the ego now?"

I leaned down and held her shoulders as I kissed her cheek. "They'll probably hang around for a couple days," I said, straightening again. "But eventually, he'll have to go back to Fort Bragg."

"Where's that?"

"North Carolina."

"Well, if you think you'll be safe here... I mean, since they've already searched once and didn't find you..."

"No," I answered firmly. "I don't want to put you in that position. Besides," I reached for the bedroom door handle, "I suspect your entire apartment is bugged."

Her eyes widened. But for fear of those bugs, she didn't answer as I pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall. She hesitated in following me, and by the time she stepped into the living room, I had my shoes on. Without a word, I grabbed my clothes from the night before off the back of the sofa on my way out. But as soon as I'd opened the door, she closed it again, throwing her weight against it with one arm.

I glanced at her, confused. I barely had time to register what was happening before she'd taken my face in her hands and pulled me close, crushing my lips against hers. My eyes opened wide in surprise, and I wasn't immediately able to respond. It took a few seconds to realize what was happening. By that time, she was slowly pulling away.

Breathing against my lips, she slowly raised her eyes, looking up at me through her lashes. "What was that for?" I whispered softly, unable to hide my confusion.

Our gazes locked, and white-hot fire blazed in her eyes. Very slowly, she placed both hands on either side of my head and slid them back into my hair. With no hesitation, she pulled me close again, gently. This time, I responded.

My thoughts scattered as I moved my lips against hers. There was no military, no client, no agenda, no caution. The blank feeling of not being in control of my thoughts was foreign, but not frightening. In fact, for the first time in a long time, I feared nothing.

She stepped back. I followed her, dropping the clothes on the floor as I slid my arms around her waist. Her fingers clenched in my hair and I pulled her tight against me, deepening the kiss. What had started out slow and steady was changing. Harder. Deeper. More needful. Adrenaline poured into my veins, floodgates opening wide. Dizzy and drugged, I slid my hands to her hips as our tongues played over each other in a sensual, passionate dance.

Without thinking, I turned and pushed her against the wall. She gasped, tipping her head back and exposing her throat. With her fingers still clenched tightly in my hair, she guided my kiss down to the side of her neck. Kissing, licking, nipping, I tasted the salt of her skin. It was instinct. And it was... more.

Jesus, what was I doing?

She gasped - a desperate, needful sound. I felt every muscle in my body tense as it met my ears. Something I'd never felt before was kindling way down deep inside of me. It was different from lust. More powerful than attraction. I didn't know what it was, but it made her want to hold her tighter - to never let her go.

"You walk out that door," she gasped, tipping her head down and bringing her lips to my jaw, "and I may never see you again."

Her hands were groping, gripping my shoulders, my arms, my back - anything she could touch. I wanted my shirt off, wanted those hands on my skin. I _wanted _it, wanted her, the way I wanted air. Starving for breath, I moved my hands from her hips up her sides - soft, warm flesh under my palms.

"You'll see me," I managed. The words didn't even make any sense in my mind. I heard my voice, but I didn't know what I was saying. My mind was a wash of confused - ecstatic - emotions. My body was trembling with the adrenaline.

"Tem..." Just the sound of her voice made my blood boil.

Her groping, searching hand slid down between us, touching me through the sweatpants. My entire body tensed, and my breathing stopped as I pressed my hips forward, against her hand, seeking more. I was already hardening. The simple touch wasn't enough. My hands shook as I slid them behind her back, crushing her against me. "God, Mika, please..."

Pheromones. Drugging in intensity. Listening devices in the room. Her fingers against my abdomen. Another deep, desperate kiss. I'd already swept the bedroom - safe there. Her hand sliding down, past the waistband. Manicured nails against hot, sensitive flesh. Gasp. Groan. What was I doing? "I need you..." Her warm breath against my ear. "Please..." Breathe. Gasp for air. "Please make love to me."  
>Love. That kindling inside of me was blazing. Colonel Lynch. MPs nearby. She rose and fell in my arms. Danger. Adrenaline. (Was that love?) Excitement. Fingers curling around me, stroking slowly. Hot kisses on my neck. Gasp. Breathe. (Sure I wanted her but... love?)<p>

Unhook her bra. Desperate kiss - deep and probing. Connection. Intimacy. (I knew almost nothing about her; how could I love her?) Passion. Longing. I had to be closer to her. Had to touch her, claim her, everywhere. (What the hell was I supposed to do with her?) Hold her. Protect her. Own her.

Airport.

Ice water.

"I've got to go." My body was still responding in force, even if my thoughts had taken a turn for the worse.

"No, you don't."

She closed both hands around me and stroked slowly, firmly, all the way up my length. My lips parted as I tried to draw in a breath. "Oh, Jesus, Mika."

"Please," she gasped. "I'm begging you."

"Don't beg me." I dropped my head, kissing the side of her neck as I pried my hands away from her soft, inviting body. It was like trying to pull apart the opposite poles of a magnet. With sheer force of will, I pressed my palms against the wall and shut my eyes hard.

"I'll give you anything, just..." I shuddered. "Just not like this."

She whimpered at the withdrawal of my hands from her body and attacked my neck with desperate, pleading kisses. "Tem..."

She found my lips and kissed me again, hard. My hands slid down the wall, towards her again. Clenching them into fists, muscles rigid, I stopped myself. I struggled for air as she moved down - soft lips and hard teeth against my throat. My hands were shaking. "Let me... please..."

I couldn't even make coherent thoughts. I wanted to tell her I'd be back. Wanted to explain to her that fifteen minutes against the wall before I ran out of here was not what I had in mind. I wanted to make her understand that I had to leave now... but that I would be back to make love to her for hours and hours as soon as I could get away. But I couldn't even catch my breath, much less find words. I'd never wanted anything the way I wanted her right now.

"Please, Mika," I panted. "Please... Let me... I want hours with you. I _need _hours with you. Please not like this."

"We can have hours."

"I have things... things on my mind..." I caught her lips in another kiss, but pulled away before either of us could deepen it. "I want to be... I want to be totally focused on you."

Very slowly, she withdrew her hands and placed them flat against the wall behind her, at her sides. Then she left my neck, putting her head back against the wall as well. She was breathing hard - as hard as I was. I didn't look at her. I couldn't. Not when I was still trying to stop my hands from shaking. My entire body was nothing but energy. I felt like I could spontaneously combust.

I could feel my pulse pounding as I willed the adrenaline to subside. I kept my head down, breathing through my nose, lips pressed tightly together.

"Tonight," she gasped. "Where are you staying?"

"I can't."

"Where!"  
>I shook my head, eyes still shut tight. "I've got a... a thing tonight."<p>

"Christ, are you kidding me?"

"It's just one night." I looked back up at her. It was a mistake. As soon as my gaze locked with her, my heart pounded harder again. My hands shook. My knees felt weak. "Tomorrow," I pleaded. "Tomorrow night. Let me take you out. Let me do this right. Please..." I shut my eyes hard. "I want to do everything for you. You... you deserve it."

I could taste her breath, and I wanted desperately to kiss her. But if I did that again, there was no way I'd be able to keep my hands on the wall. Suddenly, she moved. Dizzy and soaked with lust and adrenaline and emotions I couldn't even identify, I didn't resist her as she shoved me aside and out the door, into the hallway outside of the apartment. It closed hard behind me. But it didn't lock.

My breathing still labored, hands still trembling, I leaned forward against it, bracing myself on my arm. I could open it. I could go back inside. The client and her money be damned. What the hell did I care, anyway? I didn't care a damn thing for the money, or if I stood up some woman I didn't even know. I could stay right here, with Tamika, for the rest of the day. Hell, I could stay until Lynch showed up again and had to pull us apart. So why didn't I?

There was absolutely no reason why I shouldn't just walk right back in there and finish what I'd _almost _started. Or maybe she'd started it. We'd rounded those bases so fast, I couldn't really tell who was leading who.

I took a deep, slow breath, and rested my head on the cool wood of the door. "Tomorrow," I said quietly, through the door. I knew she was right on the other side of it. "Tomorrow afternoon, I'll be at the Landmark. Room 413. I'm not leaving that room until I see you. Do you hear me?"

I shut my eyes, clenching and releasing my fists a few time in an effort to dissipate the adrenaline. A muffled sound, something that sounded strangely like "I love you," came back through the door. Shutting my eyes hard, I took a few more deep, calming breaths. Then I pushed myself away from the door and ran for the stairs.

**1986**

_I can't find you. Come find me. _

_-Tamika_

I sat in the parked car for a long moment, flexing my grip on the steering wheel. "It's right over there," Samantha pointed, her voice cold. "Take all the time you'd like. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

I closed my eyes. "You're just going to wait here?"

"This is between the two of you," Sam said quietly. "I've said all that I have to say. Here."

I looked at the roses she held out to me - the ones that had been lying across her lap. They seemed a very small token of apology. Pathetic, ultimately. Worthless.

"Go on," Sam gestured as I took the bouquet carefully. "She's waited twelve years. Don't make her wait any longer."

What the hell was I doing here?

_August 30, 1983_

_Dear Templeton,_

_ I wish I could know for certain why you never said good-bye. I guess I wasn't entitled to it, but I'd hoped. I find myself wondering how much of it was your situation and how much of it was my foolishness. I knew when you left that it was too much too fast, and I'm so sorry for that. I should've waited. I should've spoken earlier. I should've done it any other way. I'd wanted to tell you earlier, but I never had words. I was afraid. When it finally came down to that moment... I could just feel that once you walked out that door I wouldn't see you again. I can't explain how I knew. I just felt it. And I was right. If I never got another chance, I had to find a way to tell you. I simply knew no other way._

Twelve years since I had walked away from her. I'd waited twelve years to do this. Twelve years to find her. I could've gone back to Vegas; she'd stayed there until she finally moved to San Francisco - to be closer to Sam. I hadn't. I could've called her; she'd never changed her number. I hadn't. I could've gotten her address from Samantha, sent her a letter. I hadn't. Instead, I'd waited twelve years.

How was I supposed to justify that?

_ I don't like living with regrets, but there are many things that I regret about the time we spent together. It seems like yesterday, and yet it was so very long ago now. Nine years - can you believe that? I still regret. I regret that I didn't relish that first kiss, that I never told you how much you meant to me, or even told you my real name. It's Ebony Rogers, by the way - not that it matters now. I regret things that I said and things that I didn't. I regret that we never made love. That's one of my biggest regrets. I've thought about it often; I still do. What it would've felt like in your arms - your hands, your kisses, your warmth. Those thoughts have gotten me through so many nights when I just couldn't do it anymore. When my heart is aching for something real - just a touch or a whisper. Just to bury my fingers in your hair. To kiss you and touch you and not be afraid of the dark. I laughed at you - afraid of the dark. But I know what you mean now. I know how it feels to not want to be alone. Sometimes I do feel so alone._

Footsteps slow across the grass. I held the flowers at my side, chest tight, shoulders knotted. Guilt. I'd always remembered her, back in that part of my mind where I simply didn't allow my conscious thoughts to wander. I'd always consoled myself with the fact that she'd never felt for me what I'd felt (did I feel?) for her. The memory was clear, undamaged by the years. But it was full of my own emotion, not an awareness of hers. I never would've thought that she would be thinking about it years later. That she would think of me on her way out of Vegas.

_ I'm leaving Las Vegas. Not because I want to, but because I have to. I've just been diagnosed with this thing they call AIDS. They don't know much about it, but the bottom line is that I'm sick. They tell me I'm dying. I don't know how long it will take; nobody seems to. But I can already feel it. _

I stood still, staring at the marble headstone bearing an unfamiliar name, a date of birth, and a date of death. She'd been only 38. Jesus, she was young. The stone beside hers was a Samuel Rogers. He'd been even younger. Her brother, I guessed. He was nineteen when he'd died. Years and years ago...

I shut my eyes and took in a deep breath of the cool air. Spring was finally here. I could smell it. So could the birds and the trees and every living thing that had made it through the winter. Yet I shivered. I was cold.

_ I suppose it's just as well that I don't know how long I have left. If they told me that I would have to live, feeling like this, another fifteen or twenty years, I'd just as soon put a bullet in my head._

An entire bottle of Valium. That was what Samantha had told me. A bottle of Valium and a glass of wine, and she'd died in a bubble bath in Sam's home. If she'd waited just one more month, I could've seen her. I could've spoken to her. Maybe I couldn't have made everything better. I knew I never could've made it like it was before. But I could've heard her voice. I could've looked her in the eye and said that I was sorry. I would've meant it.

Opening my eyes again, I knelt down beside the stone, tracing the name. Ebony Rogers. It wasn't her. It wasn't her name. It didn't even suit her. I closed my eyes again as I ran my fingers along the smooth, cool stone. So lifeless. So hard and unforgiving. I licked my lips to bring moisture back to my mouth, and set the dozen red roses over the grave.

_ I wish to see you, just once more before I die. I still hope that one day our paths might cross again. It keeps me going. I don't know how you'll find me now, except through Samantha. She doesn't know yet that I'm sick. I don't want her to know until it's absolutely necessary. She still doesn't know about my work, how I contracted this horrible disease. Please don't tell her. _

_ I don't know if you'll ever receive this letter, or how you will feel or who you will love when you read it. But I hope that there will always remain a small piece of your heart where our friendship resides. You'll never know how much you've changed me; it's fitting that you don't. I only wish that I'd had the chance to say good-bye. The chance for one last kiss._

With a deep, shuddering breath, I kissed the side of the stone, then slowly rose to my feet and turned away, heading back towards my car.

_Love always,_

_Mika _

_PS - Go see your pilot brother. He needs you._


	33. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Silence. I sat in the driveway, hands on the steering wheel and head on my hands. It was dark. Late. I was exhausted. So tired...

The phone startled me. Jerking awake, I sat up straight and looked around. Rubbing my forehead with one hand, I reached for the phone with the other. "Hello?"

"Hey, Faceman! I heard you called, what's up?"

"Just... called to see how you were doing."

Murdock laughed. "I'm doing just fine. But since when do you call just to chat?"

I sighed deeply, and leaned forward on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I just... it's been a rough couple of days."

The laughing, carefree tone immediately left Murdock's voice. "What happened?"

"No, it's just..." I laughed, without humor. "Jessica's daughter ran off to Vegas. And while I was there I found out that a friend of mine died."

"Man, I, I'm sorry."

"It's alright, just... She left a letter with a mutual friend and..." I chuckled again. "She wanted me to call you. It's the closest thing I have to a last request. At least one I can fulfill."

"Call _me_?" Murdock asked, surprised. "Why?"

"Well, I'd talked to her about you before. Mentioned, really. It was a long time ago but... yeah."

"So are you gon' be okay?" Murdock didn't sound overly worried, but he was concerned, nonetheless.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." The porch light went on, and I looked up as the front door of the dark house opened. A blond woman wrapped tightly in a dark, floor-length robe stepped out onto the porch, staring at my car. "I just wanted to touch base."

"Hannibal should be back tomorrow," Murdock reminded me. "Betcha it doesn't take him 24 hours to get us another mission."

I smiled. "You're probably right. Though I think right now, I could really use it."

The woman walked the length of the sidewalk, shuffling her bare feet slowly as she crossed in front of my car. "I'll let you go, Murdock," I said, watching her. "Get a good night's sleep, huh?"

"You too, Face. Talk to you later."

I hung up the phone just as Jessica stopped beside the open driver's side window and leaned down to look at me. "You know, you don't have to sit in the driveway," she whispered. "All you had to do was knock."

"Sorry," I sighed. "I was on the phone."

"You've been here for a while. I was wondering how long it was going to take you. But I'm going to bed now, so I need to know your intentions before I lock up."

I smiled faintly at the professionalism, and sighed as I looked up at her. "Do you mind if I stay with you tonight?"

"Is everything alright?" she asked quietly.

"It's fine," I whispered back. I swallowed hard as I searched her eyes through the thick, nighttime shadows. Slowly, I reached up to touch the side of her face, and forced a smile. "I just don't want to be alone tonight. I think I'm afraid of the dark."


End file.
